


the city never sleeps

by cherrysconesforsimon



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Airplane Buddies, Awkward Flirting, I don't know what I'm doing, I guess Tim/Sasha too? a little, M/M, New York City, No actual spoilers, Pre-Season/Series 01, Tim is my king, but there is lots of insinuation to things you find out later in the series so, i just like the idea of those two being friends but like, i project onto jon, jon is lonely! the poor boy, quarantine productivity huh, small spooks, take that as you will, that's just how it be sometimes, they make out a couple times, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 42,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23588128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrysconesforsimon/pseuds/cherrysconesforsimon
Summary: Jon is lying to himself- he's lonely, as much as he'd never want to admit it.When Elias tells Jon and the others that they're requested at an archival conference in New York, he doesn't exactly jump at the thought. But he'll be paid extra and compensated for the flight and hotel, so he sees no reason not to go. Once in New York, the proclaimed city of dreams, Jon discovers feelings that he didn't know he had.Maybe in the city that doesn't sleep, he can find his own dream.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 675
Kudos: 409
Collections: Download these fuckers yo





	1. Time and a Half Pay

**Author's Note:**

> Hi folks! This takes place pre season 1 I guess. This fic will most likely go on for a while, so buckle yourself in, because we're about to go on a ride of emotional denial on Jon's end and a lack of efficient planning on mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks! This takes place pre season 1 I guess. This fic will most likely go on for a while, so buckle yourself in, because we're about to go on a ride of emotional denial on Jon's end and a lack of efficient planning on mine.

“Sometimes I worry you’ll work yourself to death, Jon.”

Sasha placed a cup of tea and three more files on his desk. He ignored the tea and immediately picked up the files, flipping through the papers inside and marking something down.

“Well according to these statements, ghosts are real, so that shouldn’t be much of a problem,” he scoffed. 

She sighed and checked her wristwatch. “It’s 5:30, I’m going home now. I suggest you follow my example- Elias told me that you’ve been staying until 9 on most nights, sometimes longer.”

Jon didn’t bother to look up at her and instead opened one of the manila folders. “I can take care of myself, Sasha. There’s work to be done and I do it, I see nothing wrong with that,” he said.

“Right.” Sasha opened the door with a gentle creak, but stopped before leaving. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Already Jon had bent over the files, scribbling with a pen. 

“Yes, yes, I’ll see you then, goodnight Sasha.”

And with that, the door shut and Jon was left alone in his office. He groaned and leaned back in his chair, which rolled slightly from the motion. The tight ponytail which he’d kept his hair in all day began to ache, and so he pulled out the elastic and let the long brown hair fall to his shoulders. A streak of gray in front of his face reminded him of just how exhausted he felt. 

Jon knew he was far too tired for someone his age. He’d barely turned 30 and his patience for life had already been worn thin. His back ached every day, likely from hunching over his desk, and frequent stress migraines plagued him. In the span of a couple years Jon felt as if he’d aged a decade.

Despite Sasha’s earlier pleas, Jon let the tape recorder whir past eight o’clock. He’d drank only half his tea before he focused too intently on his work, and forgot about it entirely. With the sun long gone down it sat cold on his desk.

The clock read 8:37 when Jon finally stood and gathered his things. Gertrude’s lack of organization had led him to work for long hours every day, without being compensated for overtime. He pulled on a long black coat and left the archives. 

Today, he’d chosen to take the bus to work because of the winter weather. He did the same on his way home. Jon stared out the window and contemplated how mood could have such an effect on the appearance of a place. The strangers in the bus lacked energy at such a time of night, only made more sluggish by the cold weather, and it resulted in a grayer London landscape. Pictures taken by tourists made the place look beautiful, but Jon knew better. Cities were the condensation of humanity, which usually resulted in dirt and grime more than anything. Still, Jon found he couldn’t stand to live anywhere else. 

When the doors opened at his stop, Jon grabbed his briefcase and left. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, his long coat caught in the door. He yelped and pulled it out before the fabric could be entirely wedged in. The bus drove off and left Jon with a slightly torn coat. He sighed, and figured this may as well just happen. 

The short walk to his flat felt extended, a side effect of the dreadful cold. Jon knew the way without thinking, and so he let his mind drift off as he walked. He thought of work, and how Sasha and the others were always worrying about him. Why? His life was none of their concern, even if they thought of him as a friend. Martin certainly acted the worst of the bunch. He constantly checked on Jon, brought him tea, reminded him to eat. As if Jon didn’t know how to take care of himself! He didn’t need to be doted on. Sure, he sometimes postponed his lunch break, by so many hours that he didn’t see the point of eating at work when it became so late. It didn’t mean Jon needed anyone’s help. He just worked hard. 

Jon pulled out the key to his flat and, once in, flipped on the lights and started making dinner. In reality, he just microwaved it. The leftovers from takeout the night before came out steaming, but disappointingly soggy. He ate while watching reruns of… something. The telly was on purely for some background noise, to keep the flat from hanging in complete silence.

Sometimes Jon wondered what it would be like to live with another person. He hadn’t shared a home with someone else since university, and that had been just a dorm room. On the surface, Jon found the idea to be insufferable. Constant interruptions into what you were doing, sharing all the food, and double the mess to clean. But when he let his thoughts explore the concept further, he couldn’t help but long for domestic bliss. 

Jon decided it could wait. 

The office door swung open suddenly, and Jon jumped in his chair. He relaxed again when he heard a familiar chipper voice.

“Morning, Jon! I brought you a coffee, how you like it… a splash of milk and some cinnamon, right?” Martin stood in the doorway as if he had to be invited inside. Jon was reminded of some of the vampire related statements.

Jon spun his chair around to face Martin. “Yes, yes, thank you,” he said, grudgingly grateful for Martin’s efforts. The cardboard around the coffee cup showed it to be from a small cafe down the street, and not just the break room.

“...Well, are you going to come inside?” asked Jon.

Martin stopped staring at him and dropped his eyes, as if pulled out of a trance. “Oh, yes! Sorry. Erm, here you are,” he said, coming to Jon’s desk and awkwardly passing him the coffee. “Didn’t get as much sleep as I should’ve last night, I’m sure you know.”

Jon placed the coffee on his desk. “I do?”

He looked back at Martin, who gestured with his hands but didn’t make much noise. “I- well, I figured that you, you know- I should be getting back. To my desk. Work to do,” he stammered. “...Yay?”

“Sounds like a good plan,” said Jon. He turned back around and opened his briefcase, very obviously ending the conversation. He let out a sigh of relief as he heard the door shut. 

Martin may have been unpolished and awkward, but he did know exactly how Jon liked his coffee. He sipped some and felt a small bit of energy course through his veins. The tape recorder waited on his desk. He settled in for a long, hopefully productive day of work.

Halfway through recording a statement, this plan was interrupted.

“Hey, Jon? Could you come meet with the rest of us?” asked Tim, poking his head around the doorframe.

Jon gestured toward the recorder, which still whirred away. “I’m in the middle of a statement.”

“Well, it’s important. Mark where you left off or something.”

Jon sighed, but he knew Tim wasn’t the type to interrupt his work for something trivial. He turned off the recorder and marked a light line next to the paragraph he’d stopped at. “I’ll be right there.”

Elias, Sasha, Martin, and Tim were all sitting in the main area. They watched Jon drag up a chair and sit as well. “Should I be worried?” he asked.

Sasha shook her head. “For once, we’ve got good news,” she said.

Martin glanced at all the others, as if asking for permission. He did a tiny shimmy, unable to contain some sort of excitement. “We’re going to New York!” he burst out.

This indeed came as news. Jon didn’t move in his chair. “Why, exactly, are we apparently travelling to America?”

Elias took hold of the conversation. “It’s not for a month or so. There’s a global conference for paranormal and esoteric archives being held there, and it seems we are now large enough to be requested to attend. As the head of the Institute, I have to remain here, and no one upstairs seemed quite keen on going to represent us. So, I’ve chosen you four to do so.” Upon seeing Jon’s unenthusiastic expression, he continued. “These three have already agreed, so technically, you wouldn’t have to go- but I would like it if you did, considering you’re the Head Archivist.”

Sasha leaned in front of them. “You’ll also be paid time and a half, and the flight and hotel compensated,” she said. Sometimes Jon thought that, out of all of them, Sasha knew him best.

“Yes, I’ll go,” he said.

Elias stood from his chair. “Great. Now that we’re on the same page, I’ll send all of you an email with further information and a link to the conference website. We’ll have access to the flight tickets in a couple weeks,” he said. 

When Elias had left, Martin practically squealed in delight. “New York! Can you believe it? I’ve always wanted to go, but I’ve never found the time. Or the money. And now we’re being given both!”

Sasha laughed, but nodded. “I’ve been there once, when I was a little girl. We took a family trip to the city- it was wonderful. Then again, everything feels more magical through the lens of childhood, doesn’t it? Still, I can’t help but feel excited,” she said. 

“You seem rather unenthusiastic, Jon,” said Tim. “Something you’ve got against New York?”

Jon shrugged. “No, no, not really. I just find it silly for our department to take a trip to New York when there’s so much to be done right here. Is this- this conference all that necessary? I can’t think of what we stand to gain from it as a global society.”

“I’m sure they’ll have us do something helpful,” said Martin. “But even if the whole thing turns out not to matter, I’m still looking forward to it. I mean, a week in New York? There’s so much to do!”

“A week?! For a work conference? That’s ridiculous.” 

“Well, it is a long ways away,” said Tim.

Jon muttered something under his breath the others didn’t hear and stood. “I’ve got work to do. I’ll see you all later.”

He turned down the hallway and opened the door, but paused before entering his office. His name had come up in their hushed conversation. He strained to listen to it.

“...not excited? Sometimes I wonder if he’s alright, you know. Our boss has got all the personality of the stale graham crackers in the break room cabinet. When will we throw those damn things out?” Tim’s skills were lacking when it came to whispering.

“Hey, don’t talk about him like that!” said Martin. Jon was intrigued that Martin, of all people, came to his defense. He knew he treated Martin the worst, and did feel guilty for it, but Jon had always found it difficult to mask frustration. “He might get rather… stubborn, or antisocial, but Jon is devoted to his work. And, well- I wish I knew him better.”

Tim laughed. “Martin, all of us are quite aware that you want to know Jon better. It’s painfully obvious.”

Jon stepped inside his office and closed the door as quietly as possible. He’d had enough of hearing this, and unfortunately, wasn’t even surprised.


	2. Comfortable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An airplane mishap causes Jon to spend his flight with someone he didn't expect to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my chapters may be short but my force of will is strong

Jon greatly disliked airports.

Well, nobody seems to like airports, but Jon had experienced nothing but negative situations when in one. Even if nothing bad happened specifically, everything about airports annoyed him. The food is always overpriced and there seems to be someone shouting at all times. Thankfully, Jon’s profession didn’t involve much travel. He much preferred to burrow in his office full of books and files. It was comfortable, and Jon had trouble leaving what was comfortable.

Standing in the aisle of an aeroplane and staring at his filled seat was greatly uncomfortable. The other two seats next to her were taken as well, so she hadn’t simply sat in the wrong one. Jon cleared his throat, and the woman sitting in his seat looked up. 

“Hello. Something I can help you with?” she asked.

Jon pulled his ticket out from his pocket. “Ah, I’m afraid you are… sitting in my seat.” He showed her the ticket, which she glanced at, and then brought out her own.

The seat numbers on their tickets matched. “I guess there’s been a mistake, then,” she said. 

Jon sighed and stepped to the side as a man walked past him. Thankfully, most people had already filed onto the plane. He stopped a flight attendant as she went by. 

“Excuse me? Sorry, it seems there’s been a bit of a mix up. This woman and I have the same seats listed on our tickets.” 

The attendant, with brown hair pulled into an immaculate French twist and a kind face, examined their tickets. “Yes, seems so. Well, you’re in luck, sir- a man in line to board just had an emergency and left. He isn’t able to fly today, so there’s a seat further back in the plane that’s open. Would that be alright?” she asked. 

Jon was relieved at this. He didn’t feel like going through some ordeal where the fault had been on the airline’s side anyway. “That sounds great,” he said. 

The attendant smiled and led him further through the plane. She stopped behind a row and held out an arm to an open aisle seat. “Here you are, sir.”

“Thank you very much,” said Jon, and sat down in the cramped seat. He looked to his left- and saw Martin. 

“Jon? What are you doing here?” he asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m- I’m fine with it, but I thought none of us had seats together…”

“We weren’t supposed to. A woman up front and I had the same seat number listed on our tickets. Apparently, the man who was supposed to sit next to you had to leave and couldn’t fly, so… here I am,” he explained. 

The flight from New York to London would take about ten hours, and Jon slowly realized he’d have to spend all of it sitting next to Martin. He briefly considered hiding in the bathroom for most of the flight, but knew better. Jon was reminded of the conversation he’d overheard a month before, with the others talking about his… prickly personality. Martin had come to his defense, so Jon figured he would probably be the least upset of his coworkers to sit next to him for ten hours. Still, that didn’t exactly comfort Jon. 

“Isn’t this exciting? New York for five days? There’s so much we can do in that time! Much of it will be taken up by the conference, though,” said Martin. 

Jon had already pulled out a book. It was a fascinating text about the Han Chinese people under certain dynasties, especially the Qing, and their lasting effects on China today. He’d always found history intriguing, probably a part of why he ever applied to work at the archives in the first place. 

“Yes, it is indeed exciting.” He opened the book to where he’d last stopped reading.

“I mean, there are just so many iconic things in New York City. Like, um, Rockefeller Center! All the museums, the famous restaurants, the Statue of Liberty. Who knows, this might be my only chance to see it all,” said Martin.

Jon nodded, paying more attention to the book than Martin. He’d already had to read the last sentence five times to comprehend what it said. “Could be, yes.”

Martin finally took the hint that Jon wasn’t in much of a talking mood. After all, he’d been awake at unholy hours of the morning, and had to deal with all the TSA agents and shitty food. Jon only wished to read his book in peace. 

Unfortunately, merely two hours into the flight, Jon had already finished his book. He slipped it inside of his carry on bag and leaned back in his chair, planning to rest for a moment, perhaps take a nap.

“Would you… would you like to watch a movie?” Martin asked. It was the first he’d spoken to Jon since the start of the flight, excluding once so Martin could go use the restroom. 

“A movie, Martin?”

Martin shrugged and turned on his tablet. “I, um, I have some downloaded… I was going to watch one, and figured I’d offer. I’ve got a few…” 

He swiped through a small library of movies. “Well, I guess it’s mostly Disney. I quite like Disney movies… I’ve got The Lion King, Pocahontas, Finding Nemo- Frozen.” Martin looked up at Jon, who stared at him incredulously. “Oh, but I’ve also got Star Wars… actually, they’re owned by Disney now, too, aren’t they,” he said. 

“No, uh, no thank you.” Jon pulled out his laptop and a few of the files he’d brought along, planning to get some research done. 

“Alright. Just, you know, thought I’d- thought I’d offer,” Martin said sheepishly. 

Jon started on his research, skimming through a few articles for information related to a statement. He glanced over at Martin’s tablet. Judging from the herd of animals on screen, he’d settled for The Lion King. 

When Jon had been focused on the investigations for nearly an hour, he jumped when something made sudden contact with his shoulder. He was brought out of his research stupor and looked down.

Of course, there Martin was, asleep on Jon’s shoulder. A strand of hair fell in front of his face. Jon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It had been an astoundingly long time since he’d had this level of contact with someone, and it was… jarring. 

The movie was still playing on Martin’s tablet, but his earbuds had fallen out. Jon sighed and picked up the tablet, meaning to turn it off and put it somewhere that wasn’t Martin’s lap, but his hand brushed the earbuds and they fell out of the tablet. 

Jon froze as Can You Feel The Love Tonight blasted through the quiet plane. Multiple people turned to him with aggravated expressions, but somehow Martin remained fast asleep. He scrambled to stop the movie- damn, of course it was the loud chorus- why could the tablet get so loud? Why did Martin have the sound on without earbuds?

Finally, he managed to pause the movie and turn off the tablet. There were a couple whispers of annoyance, but pretty soon, things were back to the way they’d been before.

Tim turned around from a couple rows in front of them. He got one look at Martin asleep on Jon’s shoulder, and Jon’s embarrassed face, before bursting into laughter. Jon sent a scathing glare but it did nothing to stop him.

Jon looked down again at Martin, so peacefully resting on his shoulder. He contemplated waking Martin and telling him to get a damn neck pillow, but something stopped him. It couldn’t be the feeling of Martin laying on his shoulder, a gentle warmth flowing into Jon through the contact… that couldn’t be it. Really, Jon just didn’t want to have to deal with Martin awake. The man was exasperating.

Jon tried to relax and lean back into his seat. The chair tilted ever so slightly, and for a moment, Jon was worried Martin would wake up- as if he truly wanted him to remain asleep on his shoulder.

It’s relief from that excessive talking, he reminded himself. That’s why he had no problem with Martin’s unconscious effort to nuzzle further into the crook between his shoulder and chin. 

Jon sighed, closed his eyes, and eventually drifted off to sleep as well. No one needed to know his head fell on Martin’s as he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Yeehaw


	3. A Couple Drinks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter length consistency? funny. uploading schedule? yeah, sure. who do you think i am, someone who has their shit together?

Exhausted, Jon leaned against his small suitcase as he stood in line. There were three others in front of him, waiting to check in with the hotel’s front desk.

“Any of the others here yet?”

Jon turned around, and there was Sasha behind him, looking at her phone. She’d tied her hair in a messy bun and had dark circles under her eyes. She looked as tired as Jon felt. “No, I don’t think so,” he said. 

“Hm.”

Jon knew Sasha wasn’t likely to bother him with unnecessary small talk about being in New York, which he did not want, considering his ‘ten hour flight’ mental state. He’d guessed right, and they waited in the line in tired silence.

Despite the light chatter of others in the lobby area, the noises of the city were loud outside. Car horns, a police siren, some Italian men shouting at one another. He sighed and let the constant sound wash over him, flowing steadily no matter what time of night. 

Jon checked his phone. The aforementioned time of night was about 10:30. Oh, how he couldn’t wait to get to his room and sleep. 

“Sasha! Jon!” said a voice from behind. Jon turned again, and this time, it was Martin who rushed up to them with a suitcase in hand. He stopped and smiled. “Our first night in New York.”

The person at the desk received their key card and walked away, so Jon took a step forward. When he looked back again, Tim had arrived. Somehow, the man had managed to only bring a backpack with him. Jon began to worry that he planned to switch between the same two sets of outfits for the whole trip, not something unexpected from Tim. He had a tendency to let convenience- a nice way of saying laziness- come before quality and presentation. Jon’s mind had wandered slightly from the clothes when he thought this. 

The two people in front of him had turned out to be together, and so Jon was next. He told the receptionist his name, and as she looked at the booking, she smiled knowingly. “Ah, a conference booked room. I heard about that- supernatural conference? Convention?”

Jon looked down at the desk. “It’s an… archival conference, that’s all,” he muttered. Sasha stepped out from behind Jon.

“All four of us are here for it, actually,” she said. 

“Got it,” the woman said. “ID, please?”

Jon handed her his license and waited as she worked something out behind the desk. Then she handed him his key card. “Single bed, floor eight, room 820. Here you are, sir. Enjoy your stay,” she said. 

He thanked her and tried to leave for the elevator, but Sasha gave him a glance that almost definitely meant ‘stay,’ and that he did. Next she received her key, with the same room type as Jon, but on the sixth floor. Then Martin stepped up.

“Blackwood, correct?” she asked.

Martin nodded and she clicked something on the computer screen. “You actually have a room with two beds, but that happens often. And you will be… tenth floor.” He thanked her for the key and waited with Jon and Sasha for Tim to finish. 

They waited quietly as the elevator rose through the floors of the hotel. Tim and Sasha left on the sixth floor, each wishing the other two goodnight and walking off in different directions down the hall. Only Jon and Martin were left in the elevator.

“You excited to-”

“Not right now, Martin,” Jon said, cutting him off. Martin swallowed the rest of his words and leaned against the back of the elevator. He hoped to god that Martin didn’t remember the airplane incident. Jon already had trouble pushing it out of his mind- he marked the experience down to nerves. He didn’t like airports for rational reasons, but always struggled with a small irrational fear of flying. 

Jon stepped off without a word at the eighth floor.

“Oh, well, goodnight, Jon!” Martin called. 

“Night.” Jon had barely gotten the word out before the elevator doors closed. 

He took a moment to collect himself in the hallway, relishing in the first true quiet since walking into the airport that morning. No sound came from the doors as he walked down the hall, except for noise from a muffled television somewhere. 

As soon as Jon was inside the room, he collapsed on the bed. It felt soft and soothing beneath him. As much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t fall asleep on the spot.

He turned on the overhead light and went to the window. The view was… nice, actually. Really nice. The New York skyline illuminated the night, lit by millions of tiny lights in windows, and the sky had a deep colour, tinged by purple. It seemed alive at the places it hovered around the tops of buildings. He thought about how his own window contributed to the light. If nothing else, he at least could take comfort in being a part of the millions. 

Jon spent an hour settling in before he could even think about sleep. Although he’d felt such exhaustion earlier, now that he finally had the option of rest in front of him, his mind wouldn’t stop. The idea of sleeping seemed more ridiculous every second he didn’t try to and so he was left, shoes still on, reading next to the window. 

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the cushioned chair. For a moment, he thought that maybe sleep would grace him with his presence, but that hope ended quickly. There didn’t look to be much of a chance.

Jon jumped at the sound of a knock at his door. He scrambled to align his glasses properly and rushed over to open it. Unexpectedly, Sasha stood in the hallway, arms crossed. She’d let her hair out of the bun and brushed it out. 

“I can’t sleep, and I don’t think I’ll be able to for a while. I had a suspicion that you felt the same.” She looked him over. “Seems I was right about that. Want to go down to the hotel bar? Get a couple drinks? I just- didn’t feel like dealing with either of the others right now.”

Jon looked back into his hotel room, about to decline, when he suddenly felt displeased with the thought of trying to go to bed. Reluctantly, he nodded.

“Let me just get my key card first.” Jon slid the card and his phone into his pocket, and then the two were shortly on the elevator, heading to the lobby. He looked at his phone and realized it was actually later than he’d expected- about to be midnight. A hotel bar at midnight should be an interesting crowd, he figured. 

They sat down on stools next to each other and ordered drinks. It had been a while since Jon had been to a bar- or been out much anywhere, really. His most frequent ventures were to the supermarket or the bookstore, and even trips to the latter were becoming fewer and fewer. 

He looked around in the dark blue lighting at groups of people chatting around tables. There were a few people sitting alone- reading, looking at their phones, or even staring absentmindedly into the distance. Jon was reminded of his university days. He’d often had nights out with friends and gone to classes dreadfully hungover the next day. Internally, he scoffed at his own uni antics, but a small part of him missed it all the same.

Sasha sipped her drink. “You do this much?” Jon just looked at her. “Yeah, thought not. To be honest, I really didn’t expect you to say yes to coming. Not exactly in the mood to be a lonely girl at the bar, but I was entirely prepared.”

“It’s been… a long while,” said Jon. “I don’t have the time, usually.”

Sasha shrugged. “The others and I will go out sometimes, get a few drinks or something like that. We’ll even hang out with the library staff too. We used to invite you, but, you know. Questioned if there was any point by now. Martin still suggests we ask you, though. Every time.”

Jon cleared his throat, stalling for time to think. “It isn’t usually my most... complimenting atmosphere.”

Sasha nodded. “Well, that does make sense. Hey, maybe this could be a good thing? You could pick up some New York girl, start the trip off right?” she laughed.

Jon had to give a light chuckle to that as well. “Yeah, not exactly my scene.”

“A New York guy then?”

Jon looked up at her and sputtered, searching for a response. “I- well- I guess, but um, ‘picking people up’ isn’t really my thing in general. Don’t let me stop you, though.”

Rolling her eyes, Sasha downed the last of her glass and laughed. She laughed until she put her forehead down on the bar and sighed heavily.

“God, it just gets so lonely sometimes, doesn’t it?” 

Jon stared at the rows of bottles lining shelves behind the bar. “Yes. Yes, it does.” He let her have another moment. 

“...You may want to pick up your head, though.”

She opened her eyes and looked around as if only realizing she’d done that. She sat back up. “Sorry, sorry, I just- yeah. You know.”

“I do,” said Jon.

For another ten minutes, they remained there, occasionally starting up some bit of conversation and then letting it die out. At least Jon didn’t feel the pressure to keep it going. She seemed entirely as content as him to just sit there and contemplate. 

“I think I should be heading back up to my room now.” Jon actually started to feel tired, and knew that he could possibly go to sleep soon, likely at fault of the alcohol. 

“Yeah. Me too,” said Sasha, but she made no move to leave. Jon stood and left the money on the bar counter. 

“You’ll be alright if I go?”

She nodded and said a half hearted ‘goodnight’ as Jon left. He rode up the elevator again, and couldn’t stop the thoughts he didn’t want. Their conversation brought up the things he always dwelled on in the middle of the night- the dissatisfaction. Those dark moments where his guise of being okay was torn down and he found himself wishing he’d gone another way. When the loneliness seeped through the walls. 

Jon groaned and resisted the urge to slide down onto the ground. God, this was exactly why he never went out for drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon said [unhappiness noises]. We've pulled into sad station and will we ever leave? Who knows!
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, folks. We're about to get into the real New York-ness here. Yeehaw


	4. Google Maps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so I wrote most of this at 1 AM and it's the first chapter i haven't bothered to edit At All so you get what you get. also can someone tell me why my writing style change with every chapter?? i'm bisexual i can't make c h o i c e s

In the still dark morning, the heavy, oppressive hours of an early November day, Jon woke with a minor headache and a major pain in his back from the plane ride the day before.

After showering, he was left shivering, because for some goddamn reason the room felt freezing. He looked around for the thermostat and turned it up a few degrees. The heating must have gone lower during the night. Jon usually did not have much problem with the cold, but first thing in the morning, he deemed it a bit much.

Jon made an effort to look away from the mirror as he brushed his teeth and hair. At his own flat, he left the medicine cabinet open at almost all times, so he never had to stare into his reflection. However, the mirror in the hotel bathroom stayed fixed to the wall. His lack of effort into his appearance probably had a lot to do with the fact that he was told he looked like death most of the time. Well, that, and how he could never seem to get enough sleep. 

He spent another few minutes staring at the city’s skyline, watching as the sun slowly came up over the skyscrapers. Not even Jon could deny its pale beauty. Dots of white cloud were scattered around the sky, like stray flicks of paint, or freckles. Another freckled face came into his mind, and he immediately pushed it away without even a second thought as to why it was there in the first place.

Jon checked his phone- oh, wow, it was later than he’d thought. Still incredibly early, but yet later than he’d thought. He grabbed what he needed (checking twice for it all), and went down the elevator to the first floor.  
There was a place where he could get breakfast, just across the street. Or, he figured, buy a granola bar or something from the hotel and get some extra work done. That would also give him more time to figure out the route to the convention hall. Despite a desire for some authentic New York bagels, he quickly bought water, a granola bar, and an apple. It would have to do.

Jon found a small table and pulled out his laptop. He occasionally took a bite of the granola bar, but abandoned it when he inevitably became sucked into the statements. Those that could record digitally, he did. There was also research to be done, and investigations into their connections, and countless other things to do. Unfortunately, he found himself in a New York hotel at the moment and not his office. The work flow felt at least a little more manageable when in the archives themselves. 

He checked the time, and realized that the conference started in about an hour. He still had no clue how to get there. The laptop again took its place in Jon’s bag, along with the statements, and he stood in front of a small map in the lobby.

Even with glasses on, some of the streets were listed too small for him to see properly. His attempt to find the hall’s location and a good route went on for several minutes before a voice startled him from behind.

“Need any help there?”

Jon turned around. A woman, maybe Jon’s age or slightly older, looked at him with a warm but knowing smile. “You’d think that navigation would be simple, considering that the streets are a grid, but I think we both know it isn’t that easy,” she said.

He had to take a moment to process her appearance before responding. “Um, no, I- I’m alright, thank you.”

She nodded and looked back at the map. “Where do you need to go?”

Jon felt wary of telling her what his location would be, but didn’t know how to skirt around the question. “A, um, convention hall. Supposed to be fairly close to here, but…”

“The archival conference?” she asked. Jon nodded slowly. “I’m here for that as well. I’m a presenter, actually. I’m from the Ellison Memorial Institute in D.C.” She held out her hand to him. “I’m Bridget. Pleasure to meet you.”

Jon shook her hand. “Jon. What… what are you speaking on?” he asked.

Bridget shrugged. “It’s about the digitization of older files. You know, pre-1900’s. How we make documents accessible and in digital organization without compromising their integrity, or detracting from their value as historic pieces,” she said.

“Sounds fascinating.”

“You from England?” asked Bridget.

“I am. I’m from the Magnus Institute, we’re-” he started, but she cut him off.

“Magnus Institute! I’ve heard of you guys, we all have. Apparently, you’re the place that gets the real action. Our archives are filled with research, facts, the like, but you guys- you get the most statements. From real people who claim to have had experiences. We don’t get nearly as many,” she said excitedly. “I’d really like to know more about how your institute operates, if you don’t mind. We could go out for drinks or something this-”

“Jon!” Martin hurried over from the elevators. He smiled, about to say something, but then something flickered in his eyes and he looked to lose his enthusiasm all at once. “Sorry, didn’t mean to- interrupt you or bother you or anything. Just uh, figured you’d have left by now,” he said.

“With your institute as well?” Bridget asked. Jon nodded.

“Uh, Bridget- this is Martin, one of my assistants. Martin, that’s Bridget. She’s a speaker at our conference.”

Martin smiled again, but still with less energy. He shook her hand. “That’s wonderful! Great to meet you.”

Bridget shifted the purse on her shoulder. “Well, I should be going. Preparations and all that. I’ll see you around, Jon.”

Jon barely had time to say goodbye before she’d disappeared into a group of people rushing out the door. He turned his attention back to Martin, who was swiping at his phone.

“Why are you trying to puzzle out the map like that? It- It might be easier to use Google Maps,” he said. Martin held up his phone for Jon to see. “Here, I found a good walking route to the convention hall. Seems the tube or whatever they call it here isn’t running a good route from here to there.”

“My phone doesn’t, ah, doesn’t have great service here in America,” Jon muttered. Martin didn’t seem to have heard him, staring at the doors of the hotel. He snapped his gaze away from them as Jon shifted uncomfortably.

“Would you like to walk with me then? Since your phone- you said that Maps might not work for you, I just don’t want…”

Jon sighed and nodded. “Sure, sure, we can walk there then.”

Martin kept his eyes on the phone screen, looking at Maps even when they would only be walking straight for a couple blocks. Jon became increasingly puzzled as to why he didn’t look up, or attempt conversation like he usually did. Often, Jon didn’t _like _the conversation, but a silent Martin was worse. Had something happened to him?__

__He decided to ask just that. “Martin… are you alright?” Jon asked. He tried to ask with a tone that said, well, ‘I’m not _particularly _invested in your answer, but I’m curious about it.’ Instead, a little bit of concern edged its way into his voice.___ _

____For the first time since leaving the hotel, Martin looked at him. “Oh. Um. Yes- of course! I mean, we’re in New York!” he said, and put on a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Martin had brown eyes, with little flecks of green, and their color shifted in the sunlight- Jon noticed._ _ _ _

____He didn’t press the matter any further. His job had given him no right to nose into the lives of his assistants, and he was not about to. After all, Sasha had already given him quite a bit of… information the night before. And Martin lied terribly. At least Jon could always count on Tim to be a rather closed book to him._ _ _ _

____“Jon, are _you _alright,” Martin asked after another beat of silence. Jon glanced away from him, thrown off by this question. They skirted a wide radius around some person staggering and shouting on the sidewalk. New York, how wonderful.___ _ _ _

______“I’m fine.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Martin stayed quiet for another moment. “...Well, you just seem- well, you work so much, and I never see you wi- you just look so exh-”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’m _fine _, Martin.”___ _ _ _ _ _

________“Oh. O-okay. Sorry. Didn’t mean to…”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I understand, it’s alright,” Jon said, calm again. They were pressed closer together by the crowd of morning commuters, and Jon made an effort to look away._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I- oh!” he exclaimed. Jon kept walking for a moment before he realized that Martin wasn’t next to him. He turned around and let the many people swerve around him without even realizing he was there._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Martin? Martin?” he called._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Martin pushed his way through the crowd and found Jon, sheepish when looking at him. “I um. Dropped my phone.” He turned the screen off and on. “It works though, it’s fine.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Jon exhaled, relieved when he hadn’t realized he’d been worried in the first place. “Alright, good, I was afraid that- that I’d be lost without your Google Maps thing,” he said. Martin nodded and fell into place next to him again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Well, would’ve been hard to get too lost. We’re about- ah, we’re here!” he said._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Jon looked up at the building next to him, slightly wider than the others on the street. A sign up front said _Global Archival Conference of the Paranormal _. He again felt a little bit of shame.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Oh, and in good timing, too! It’s about fifteen minutes until the opening keynote. Time enough to check the place out, get nice seats…”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“Well, it won’t be time enough if we stay out here,” said Jon. He hurried inside, mostly to attract less attention than to save time. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice or care where he was going. Guess that’s one good thing about New York._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thanks for reading folks! i've started listening to the Mechs lately and i love them so much. last night i stayed up until midnight recreating Jonny's makeup look for performances,, it was kinda bomb i had a great time. shoutout to Jonathan Sims for giving me the chance to feel like a badass steampunk space pirate. 
> 
> also i finally figured out how to use italics here on ao3 but then it only worked once in the chapter??? and idk how to fix it so sorry
> 
> Yeehaw


	5. Gasp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, there's Tim/Sasha if you squint. i just want them to be happy. oh and Jon is a Disaster like usual so that's all well and good. welcome to Gasp, baby

“Oh, should I have… brought a notebook along today?”

Jon sighed, exasperated, and uncapped his pen. “Well, it seems I’m the only one who has actually come here to better my archiving skills, so no.”

Martin looked down at his shoes. “Sorry?”

“Well, you aren’t Head Archivist, I guess,” said Jon. His folding chair squeaked as he leaned forward to rest the notebook on his thigh, and he grimaced at the sound. 

They were sat in a fairly large convention room, with a podium set up at the front on a small stage. Rows of folding chairs extended to the back, filled by people. Jon and Martin had found an empty row. 

“I should head to the bathroom. You know, before it starts,” said Martin. Jon made no acknowledgement of this as he left, following some signs to the restrooms. 

Jon took a deep breath, feeling some tension leave him. His body had been stiff when Martin sat next to him, strangely tense, and he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps the social interaction had been a bit much. He didn’t get much of it these days. Well, no matter the reason, Jon could relax now.

“Hey Jon.” Sasha pushed her way through a small clump of people standing in the aisle. She flopped into the chair next to him, with noticeable dark circles. 

“Ah, I think- I think Martin was planning to sit there. We got here a little earlier. He’s, um, in the bathroom right now…”

“You walked here together?” Sasha asked.

“Uh, yes, we did.”

She gave a little shrug and moved another seat over. “Hm. Finally.”

Jon decided to ignore that comment. “Are you alright? You look… tired.”

Sasha took out her phone to check something and didn’t meet Jon’s eyes. “Took me a little longer to get back to my room last night,” she said. “I didn’t get much sleep. Hopefully this… “welcoming keynote” is interesting, because if not, you’re gonna need to wake me up.”

“Hey boss!” Tim seemed to appear out of nowhere, making Jon jump in a rather undignified manner. He dropped his notebook and waited for Tim to pass to pick it up. “...Sasha.” 

Jon wasn’t one to pick up on slight social cues, but he could tell something had happened there. Tim also looked tired, and leaned his head back over the edge of the seat. “The exhibitor booth thing after this is supposed to have coffee, right? And some food? I’ll even take a goddamn scone right now,” he said.

Sasha laughed. “Glad you retained one thing from the schedule we were given.” 

“Is Martin here yet?” Tim asked, and checked his phone. “The keynote is about to start. Martin does have a tendency to arrive about a minute before things start, though.”

“Yeah, but remember the time he came a _day _early to the barbecue, though? Just showed up to Marie’s house with all that food, and she said he apologized so much for it and just left the food…” Tim and Sasha dissolved into a fit of laughter.__

____

Jon closed his notebook and tapped the pen against his thigh. “What barbecue?” 

__

Sasha stopped her laughing. “Oh, um… Marie had gotten a new house, and she invited everyone for a barbecue, remember? It was fun. Wait… I think you said no. You said you were busy.”

__

Jon didn’t even remember being invited. “I see. Who’s Marie again?”  
“You know Marie! From reception? Curly brown hair? She wears those cardigans and-” she looked over at Tim, holding in laughter again. “Oh my god do you remember the fucking brooch she wore that once-”

__

Jon stayed silent as Sasha and Tim started laughing again. He couldn’t remember Marie, or her brooches. Was he really that out of the loop?”

__

“It didn’t start yet, right? There was a line.” Martin rushed to sit down next to Jon. He looked over at Sasha and Tim, still laughing and trading memories. “What’s happened to them?” he asked.

__

“They’re talking about some… barbecue. A woman named Marie and her, brooch I think?”

__

Martin chuckled and put his head in his hands. “Oh god, the _one _time I got a date wrong! And that woman does wear some interesting things.”__

_____ _

“Are there a lot of office things like that? Do you guys-”

_____ _

Before Jon could finish his question, he was cut off by polite applause surrounding him. He looked to the front, where a middle aged man had entered the stage and was walking to the podium. The man waited for the applause to die down and adjusted his mic. Two lights shone down on him, and for the first time, Jon noticed just how many lights were placed around the room. Sure, ample lighting was needed for production quality, but there were lights in places that couldn’t possibly even reach the stage. He forgot about it, though, when the man began talking. 

_____ _

“Good morning, everyone! Great to see you here. Good to know the future of archiving is in good hands,” he said, winking. Jon couldn’t believe anyone could be so gleeful to give a speech on archiving on a Monday morning. “My name is Walter, and I’m the head of the Global Archiving Conference of the Paranormal, or as we like to call it- GASP!” He paused as there was light laughter around the room.

_____ _

The acronym left a sour taste in Jon’s mouth. They’d used Conference to make an ‘s’ sound, and it annoyed him. It also felt cheap. Were they not here for the archiving aspect, instead of the needless ‘paranormal’ factor? If people were going to be giving speeches on ghosts and monsters, Jon figured, he may as well leave.

_____ _

“However, despite the importance of the esoteric aspect of our work, we’ve all come here to broaden our knowledge on the storage and accessibility of such topics,” Walter continued. Oh. Perhaps Jon had been right to bring a notebook.

_____ _

“So no ghost stories? Or complimentary Goosebumps books?” Jon heard Tim whisper. He glanced over to see Sasha lightly punching his arm. 

_____ _

“We’ve got a week in store for you that will hopefully be very informative, and will enrich the functioning of your respective archives when you return. There will also be spaces in the schedule to explore vendors and exhibitions where you can browse…”

_____ _

Walter continued, giving basic information on the proceedings of the conference, their goals, about the establishment of the group, and other standard topics for, well, a welcome. In the corner of his vision, Jon occasionally saw a light flash at the edges of the room. No one else seemed to notice or care, and he found that he didn’t really, either. 

_____ _

“And make sure to grab some coffee and refreshments as well before you do so! Welcome to Gasp, and I’m sure I’ll see you all later.” There was more applause and Walter left the stage. People began to stand from their chairs. 

_____ _

“Oh, coffee, thank _god _,” Tim said, groaning. Sasha stood and slung her bag over her shoulder.__

_______ _ _ _

“ _And _we’re supposed to be checking out the booths. The coffee probably won’t be great anyway,” she said.__

_________ _ _ _ _ _

“Do you think they’ll have tea as well?” Martin asked. Tim snorted.

_________ _ _ _ _ _

“Ah, those Brits! All they drink is tea, eh? Don’t let them near the coffee,” he said in a horrendous American accent. 

_________ _ _ _ _ _

Sasha stepped back to let some people pass through the row. “I think that ‘eh’ was more Canadian, Tim, your skills are severely lacking.” 

_________ _ _ _ _ _

“Well apologies, then,” Tim laughed. Those two turned to leave, but Martin stopped them.

_________ _ _ _ _ _

“After the exhibits and the next seminar, do you guys, um, want to all grab lunch?” he asked. Tim and Sasha looked at each other.

_________ _ _ _ _ _

“Sorry, Martin, we’ve um… got plans, I think. You see, we’re both really into Thai and we found this place…”

_________ _ _ _ _ _

Martin smiled. “Oh, no, it’s perfectly alright! Just, uh, wondering, that was all.” He turned around to face Jon. “So, uh… Jon?”

_________ _ _ _ _ _

Jon remembered the barbecue. He thought about drinks the night before, and the strange longing to maybe be part of their friendships- just a little bit- because it was obvious there’d been so much he constantly missed out on. And he’d voluntarily missed them, yes, nearly all of them, but maybe talking with people would do him so good. Maybe, just maybe, there was value in going out and living. He just asked for lunch, nothing wild. It could be a good thing.

_________ _ _ _ _ _

Then Martin smiled a little more. His eyes crinkled, only slightly, and the light reflected off of his soft brown eyes. There was a warmth in his cheeks overlayed by freckles and a strand of wavy light brown hair fell in his eye. And Jon couldn’t do it.

_________ _ _ _ _ _

“I- I, um, I don’t- I don’t know, I have some um. Work, uh things to, you know, um. I probably- I probably shouldn’t.”

_________ _ _ _ _ _

Oh god. Words. 

_________ _ _ _ _ _

Martin’s smile fell. Not drastically, but enough. “Yeah. It’s fine. Might be nice to walk around the city alone for a bit.”

_________ _ _ _ _ _

“Well, yes, I’m glad,” Jon said curtly. He picked up his bag and left without another word.

_________ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, my dudes! also i am literally one episode away from being caught up on tma and i hate it. i've been listening to 5 or more episodes every day and it has been the singular thing keeping me sane. i don't know what i'm going to do once i have to wait for weekly updates. might just die idk
> 
> anyway yeehaw


	6. Times Square I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> editing?? hahaha never heard of her
> 
> i like to listen to NY soundscapes to get in the vibe for this and i kept getting distracted by random people's conversations lmao. also i listened to consecutive 2 hours of season 4 q+a and wow, jonny and alex are my favorite people. blessings unto this earth

“Obviously, we understand if you have work to do tonight, you know. Statements and such,” Tim said.

“Actually, I think I will come along. If that’s alright with you.” Jon was surprised to hear the words coming out of his own mouth.

“Well, I hate for you to miss out, but we understand you have-” Sasha stopped in the middle of her sentence. “I’m sorry, _what _?”__

__Jon looked between the two of them. “I said- yes. I’ll come with you. To Times Square.”_ _

__“Oh. Wow. Okay, um, cool!” Tim said, unsure. Jon suddenly became nervous that they didn’t actually want him there with them, and this was a bad idea- he probably should have just turned them down. That would’ve made things simpler, and he didn’t want to impose on their fun evening._ _

__“Martin’s… coming as well?” Sasha glanced at Tim and something passed between them. “If that, you know, makes any difference._ _

__For some reason, it did. Jon swallowed and shook his head. They didn’t have to know that. “No, that doesn’t make a difference. When are we leaving?” he asked._ _

__“Well, we don’t want to get there too late- we’re planning to meet down here around seven.” Sasha looked to Tim for confirmation and he nodded.  
_ _

__

__

__Jon glanced at a clock on the wall of the hotel lobby. It was 5:30, so that gave him some to- to what? The thought crossed his mind of ‘getting ready,’ but he questioned why he’d need to change. It’s not like this was any different than the rest of the day. “Alright. I’ll… see you then.”_ _

__As Jon left to go up to his room, he swore Tim and Sasha were whispering something to each other. They were probably talking about him. No, no, he couldn’t let himself think like that. The paranoia never helped._ _

__Once in the room, he had to throw on a jacket. The room had gotten colder, even though it should have warmed up a little over the day. He checked the thermostat, and the temperature shouldn’t have lowered from where he’d set it in the morning. He put it up a few degrees, but wasn’t too bothered. Fahrenheit made no sense, he’d probably just interpreted it wrong._ _

__Despite his earlier conviction that there was no need to get ready for going to Times Square, Jon couldn’t help it. He also lacked the energy to record a statement or do any other sort of taxing work._ _

__Fifteen minutes were spent in front of the mirror, wearing different jumpers he’d packed, and trying them with jackets. He eventually settled on a dark green jumper and even went so far as to push around his hair with a little water. There was no reason for him to make such a larger effort than usual but, he figured, it’s no crime to want to look presentable._ _

__After some lighter reading from another historical book he’d brought along, 6:55 finally rolled around. Time had seemed to move incredibly slowly since he’d been told about their little outing. He closed the book, grabbed his phone, key card, and wallet, and left the room._ _

__Once outside, Jon had to take a deep breath. The hallway was quiet around him and he knew this would be his last moment of calm before he was thrust into conversation and people and stimulation on all sides from the city. He’d seen pictures of Times Square before. The screens in every direction, all the colors, all the people moving and talking and breathing- he knew it could all get to be a bit much for him. Archives beneath a London institute never had too much to handle. Well, not usually._ _

__6:57. Jon knew he couldn’t wait forever. He let the elevator slowly drop him to his social doom. When he stepped out and saw Tim, Sasha, and Martin on the other side of the room, he realized with a start that none of them had changed clothes for the occasion._ _

__Ah, wait. That wasn’t true. Martin had a different jumper as well, light purple in color, and Jon found it rather complimented his skin tone. He wondered if Martin had known this when choosing to wear it- strange thing to wonder._ _

__“Ah, Jon, you’re here! We should be ready to leave then,” said Sasha. The light outside had already diminished significantly._ _

__“It’s only a few blocks away, right?” Martin asked. Sasha checked her phone._ _

__“Yeah, just eight I think, and only one turn.”_ _

__As they walked along the streets, they shifted formation with every person who passed by. Tim and Sasha seemed to be keeping up a steady stream of conversation. Martin tried to start talking to Jon multiple times, and Jon tried to keep responding- he really did- but the constant noise and all the people distracted his brain too much._ _

__Every car horn echoed ten times louder in his brain, and the words between strangers on the street overwhelmed his ears until it was all he could do to push the sounds out and focus entirely on the silence of his mind. Jon found it necessary to sort of shut down whenever things got too loud or jumbled. He hoped that, once stopped and able to take a breath when they reached Times Square, he could sort his brain out._ _

__Martin eventually dropped his attempt at conversation. Jon sincerely didn’t want him to think it was because he was annoyed. He just _couldn’t _speak right then.___ _

____“Well, we’re here!” Tim said, talking loudly over the din of the city. Jon looked up from the ground for once and tried to take in his surroundings._ _ _ _

____The sun was no longer visible behind the tall buildings, and only streaks of orange and light pink were visible behind them. Every screen shifted and glowed, and as Jon stared around the space above him, he suddenly felt dizzy. The crowd around him pressed in as every building extended upwards._ _ _ _

____Jon stumbled and grabbed on to whatever was closest to him for support. As he caught himself and regained balance, he realized this thing was Martin’s arm. He quickly retracted his hand and stood rigidly still. “My apologies. Just a- a bout of vertigo.” He took a deep breath and let the oxygen fill his lungs._ _ _ _

____He was fine. As long as he focused on just one thing around him, he’d be perfectly fine. Ignore the other sounds and the lights and the people and the shouting and the screens. He started to fidget with the hair tie on his wrist, winding it around his fingers and focusing acutely on the sensation._ _ _ _

____“Are you sure you’re alright?” Martin asked, extending a hand slightly before dropping it again. “You look a little pale, Jon.”_ _ _ _

____Jon nodded and tried to show just how calm he was. “I’m fine. What should we, uh, do first?”_ _ _ _

____“We could… check out Madame Tussaud’s?” Sasha suggested, shrugging. “Find a place to get some food in the square where we could look at it while we eat?”_ _ _ _

____“Okay, no to Tussaud’s, wax people are fucking creepy,” Tim said. For once, Jon actually agreed with Tim._ _ _ _

____“I’d like something to eat, though.” Martin looked around the square, trying to see over the tops of people’s heads for a cafe, but having some trouble._ _ _ _

____Jon had not realized before this moment that he was hungry. He’d had an apple, (most of) a granola bar, and what else? Coffee, he’d had coffee and a scone. Well, he’d done worse in a day. The stress of settling in to New York had definitely not helped his eating habits and hunger, though._ _ _ _

____“I think there’s a cafe over there, I’m pretty certain that none of us are looking for fine dining tonight,” Tim said. He pointed in a direction nearly opposite the square to them. With general agreement, they wove through the crowd toward the shop. Jon did his best to focus solely on the back of his coworkers’ heads._ _ _ _

____New York was much louder than London._ _ _ _

____When they finally reached the cafe (in just a little over a minute, but it felt like an eternity to Jon), he sighed in relief as he was flooded by warm air and quiet. Well, relative quiet. Considering the cafe was directly off of Times Square, it was very busy, but the walls managed to mute some of the sounds from the street that were assaulting his mind. His fingers still slid under the hair tie and rotated it around his wrist._ _ _ _

____Martin gave him a concerned look. Jon hated how he was the only one who could see how not okay Jon felt. He was pretty sure he hated it. Jon had the overwhelming urge for a cigarette, but he knew he couldn’t here, or feasibly outside._ _ _ _

____Sasha nabbed a table as soon as it was open and sat there to save their seats while the other three ordered, Tim getting food for her. The line moved quickly, but was long._ _ _ _

____“Jon, are you okay? The city can be a bit much, I know…” Martin said._ _ _ _

____Jon kept his eyes looking forward. “Well, it can be, but I’m fine now. I just had- just had a moment. No need to be concerned.”_ _ _ _

____“Well, no one will judge if you need to leave.”_ _ _ _

____Oh. That made sense. “You know, you don’t need to act fake concerned to tell me you want me to go. You could just say it,” Jon said flatly._ _ _ _

____“Wait- wait what?! Jon, you know that isn’t what I meant. I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, and if you did, then you know that none of us are forcing you to stay- is it not possible that I might just be concerned for you?”_ _ _ _

____They’d kept their voices low, but Tim still glanced back at them from in front. Jon reddened. “Well, I don’t come with you all very often. I was only entertaining the idea that perhaps my presence isn’t necessary, or entirely welcome.”_ _ _ _

____“That’s ridiculous,” Martin said. Before Jon could say anything, it was his turn to order._ _ _ _

____Jon only got a sandwich, water, and a bag of crisps, and the American worker didn’t even bat an eye at the usage of the British word. A New York food worker sees a lot in a day._ _ _ _

____He bought a sandwich without meat, because he’d become a little more… adverse to meat as his position at the Institute progressed. It seemed he was becoming an unintentional vegetarian._ _ _ _

____As they each waited for their food, standing off to the side with their numbers, Martin pressed on again. “Just so you know, I am glad you came with us tonight.” He looked like he was about to say more, but he stopped there._ _ _ _

____“I think I am as well. Unless something terrible happens later,” Jon said, and it took Martin a moment to realize he had been joking. He let out a small laugh._ _ _ _

____“Alright, valid. I promise that nothing horrible is going to happen to us tonight.”_ _ _ _

____“You can’t say that. There are a lot of people around, and there’s no telling what they might do! You don’t need a background check to buy a sandwich. There could be an axe murderer in here, just waiting to strike!”_ _ _ _

_____(It is remarkably easy to buy an axe in central London lmao). ____ _ _ _

______Martin’s order number was called. “Well, in that case, wish me luck right now,” he joked. Jon watched as Martin went up to get his food, smiling at the worker and thanking him kindly. Instead of sitting back down with Sasha, he returned to where Jon stood._ _ _ _ _ _

______“See? I’m not dead.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Jon reached out a hand and poked Martin’s shoulder, who went a little bit stiff at the touch- it was nearly unnoticeable. “You’re corporeal, so probably not a ghost. Your point has been made, fine.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Would you rather I was a ghost?” Martin laughed, and he pulled out a small container from the bag he’d been given. “Want a chip?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Martin, we’re in America, you can’t be so culturally insensitive. It’s a _french fry _,” said Jon. They carried on like this until Jon’s number was called, and for the first time, he was glad he’d decided to come with them.___ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thanks for reading everyone! y'all's comments and stuff make my day. this site is the only way i'm staying sane during quarantine.
> 
> also, did i project my sensory overload issues onto Jon? yessir. did i also add in some small fidget/compulsion moments for him that i am a l s o projecting? yessir! will i stop? absolutely not. we suffer together
> 
> yeehaw!


	7. Times Square II (The Timesening)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this chapter with absolutely no plot significance whatsoever. it is entirely for pure archive gang fun, and i regret nothing. i just want them to be happy is that too much to ask (yes it is)
> 
> also can someone inform me why my italics still only work once a fucking chapter what IS this

“So, where to, guys?” Tim asked. Martin had kindly offered to take the trays from everyone’s meals, and so they sat a table in the crowded cafe, clutching at to-go cups. They remained silent. “No ideas, huh? Well, there’s always the Disney store right here,” he laughed.

“Wait, really?! I heard that the Disney store in New York is two stories tall, and apparently it has a castle and a chandelier and everything!” Martin was… genuinely excited at the prospect of the Disney store. Jon resisted the urge to laugh, because Tim had obviously been joking. Still, Martin’s delighted smile was- childish. It was childish. 

Sasha stifled a laugh as well. “Martin, I’m fairly certain that Tim had been joking with that one... “

Martin’s face fell. “Oh, of course, I knew that, ha. Haha. Going there would be ridiculous, I mean, we’re grown adults and all.”

Needless to say, five minutes later, they stepped inside of the Disney store. 

Jon huffed. “We’re really going here? Are there not better things to do with our time?” Despite his embarrassment at being there, Jon was secretly glad to be out of the street. He’d hung close to the rest of the group the whole way, focusing on his shoes (or sometimes on Martin) to keep his eyes and ears less overwhelmed.

After eight o’clock at night on a Monday in late November, the Disney store thankfully seemed rather devoid of kids. Multiple employees milled about and a few people wandered through the store. At least he didn’t have to deal with screeching children.

“Oh, it’s just a little bit of fun, boss, lighten up,” said Tim. He went to punch Jon’s arm but realized that may be slightly inappropriate. “Can’t be all business all the time, can we? I promise you we’ll make it to a dive bar at some point, though, if that’s ‘adult’ enough for you.”

Jon shuddered at the thought of going to a skeezy dive in New York. He knew Tim was speaking of the type that had probably never seen a sanitation certificate. Tim saw this and clapped him on the back, and it hurt a little too much on Jon’s thin figure. “Right then. Let Martin have his fun.”

Oh, and Martin _was_. He and Sasha had flocked to a corner where a large plushie of The Statue of Liberty Minnie Mouse had been positioned on top of a shelf, over other similar products. As Jon stepped a little closer, he could hear their conversation.

__Martin had picked up a mug with the character on it. “Look at this one! I could use it for tea at the archives, like a way to remember the trip. I think that would brighten up the space a little, don’t you?”_ _

__Sasha took the mug from him and moved it around, looking at each side. “Can you imagine bringing Jon tea in this mug? D’you think he’d just outright refuse it?” she laughed._ _

__He grabbed it back and tucked it under his arm. “Well, now I have to get it. Even in his worst moods, Jon doesn’t refuse my tea. Only let me get this one thing, Sash, you _have_ to hold me to-”_ _

__

__Jon stopped listening then and walked away, looking for something else to focus on. Eavesdropping on his assistants never ended up being a good idea, even if he hadn’t meant to in the first place. He decided to go up to the next floor and leave behind whatever that was._ _

__

__He felt terribly out of place going up the escalator, where the lanterns dropped from the ceiling gave it a pleasant warmth. He knew he looked out of place as well, and it bothered him. Thankfully, he encountered no one else going up or down._ _

__

__Ah, so _this_ had been what Martin was talking about earlier. In the center of the floor, a huge white castle had been erected and it brushed the ceiling. Behind it, a chandelier twinkled. The whole thing looked like a strange cartoon- well, that did seem to be the point. _ _

____

__Jon wandered aimlessly around the store. He didn’t know much about Disney, or children’s films as a whole. He’d never liked them as a kid, and had always gravitated more to books. A movie couldn’t immerse him the way a book could, even from the beginning. Most of the faces of characters that he passed, he didn’t recognize._ _

____

__But there was one. A stuffed animal of a white and black pig, sitting on a shelf with its back legs adorably folded underneath its body._ _

____

__Jon knew this one because of Martin. He’d been talking about the release of a new Disney movie for weeks, with a soundtrack composed by someone apparently notable, a man named Manuel or Miranda or something of that sort. Either way, Martin had secured tickets for opening night a month in advance. For a short time after Martin had first seen the movie, that damn pig had been the screensaver on his computer._ _

____

__Jon knew that Martin would desperately want this stuffed animal. He almost passed it by without another thought, but then remembered the mug. Martin was only letting himself get the mug- more specifically, the mug he wanted to use especially for Jon’s tea._ _

____

__He sighed and looked around before taking one of the stuffed animals. _This is stupid_. __

____

____The others had surfaced on the second floor at this point. Jon watched with amusement as Tim ran over to the Star Wars section. He picked up a test lightsaber and clicked the button that let it extend, which it did with a loud _whoosh_. The red plastic glowed red and Tim smiled as he waved it around a little. ___ _

____

______Sasha walked over to him and stood with her hands on her hips, watching. “Tim, I swear to god you’re going to-” the lightsaber hit a shelf and caused a stormtrooper figure to go clattering to the floor._ _ _ _ _ _

____

______“Oops?”_ _ _ _ _ _

____

______She laughed and set it back on the shelf. “Timothy, you’re a disaster.”_ _ _ _ _ _

____

______Jon turned away- he was doing it again. Now, he saw Martin, who had taken out his phone and aimed the camera at the castle and chandelier. When he’d finished, Martin took a look around the floor and stopped in front of another plushie of that pig. He stood there for a moment, but glanced at the mug in his hands and walked away. Jon squeezed the one he’d taken._ _ _ _ _ _

____

______“Oh, Jon!” Martin hurried over to him, and he quickly hid the plushie behind his back. “I just wanted to say sorry. For dragging you here. The others seemed excited, and I was too- which I _know_ is kind of silly, and I’m sure we can leave soon, if-”___ _ _ _

____

________“It’s alright, Martin.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________“Oh.” He smiled. “Okay, then. Well it still shouldn’t take long anyway. I think I’m going to… go see what Sasha and Tim are up to. Make sure he doesn’t kill anyone with that lightsaber,” he joked, and left quickly- but not so fast that Jon couldn’t catch a glimpse of the slight blush on his cheeks._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________Jon took the opportunity to head back down the escalator. Only one person passed by, going the other direction, and they offered a polite nod to each other. Even that small interaction left Jon exhaling with relief when it was over._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________He went up to the counter, where a tired employee only noticed him after he’d been standing there a few seconds. He placed the plushie between them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________“Will that be all today?” they asked. Hopefully, it will be all forever. Jon didn’t want to waste any more money on overpriced stuffed animals._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________“Yes, that’s all.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________The cashier scanned the plushie into their computer and put it in a bag, with a large Disney label. “That’ll be $18.99.” Christ, that was quite a bit, but Jon figured it was worth it as he handed over his card. Martin had certainly made him more than twenty dollars of tea. This was just… returning the favor._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________“Have a great day,” they said, and Jon returned it before walking away. He stood against an empty portion of the wall and waited for the others to finish._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________Sure enough, the three stepped off of the escalator together. Sasha and Tim hadn’t gotten anything, but they seemed to be engaged in some heated debate, with Martin awkwardly behind. As they neared, Jon could hear snippets of conversation._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________“You seriously cannot be telling me… it changed the very nature of science fiction!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________“Yes, and so did-”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________“If you say that Star Wars is better than Star Trek, you are just wrong,” he heard Sasha say. Ah, the age old debate. Georgie had made him watch the first two original Star Wars movies. Personally, he thought Star Trek was far better, but this argument wasn’t one he planned to join._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________Martin didn’t take long to buy his mug and went over to Jon. The other two were still bickering. “You got something?” Martin asked, obviously surprised._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________Jon hadn’t thought this part through. It dawned on him that this would seem like a very strange gesture, but he couldn’t just not give Martin the plushie. Then he would’ve wasted twenty dollars._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________“Um, yes, actually, it’s uh- well, it’s for you.” Jon opened the bag so Martin could see what was inside. “I don’t know, I thought…”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________Martin beamed and took the plushie from the bag. “Thank you!! I didn’t know that you knew how much I love Pua. He’s like, the best Disney animal sidekick, other than Hei Hei of course…” Martin paused when he realized that everything he was saying was lost on Jon. “Um, thank you. That was… thanks, Jon.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________Tim and Sasha had stopped arguing, though Jon doubted they’d come to an agreement. Tim looked at a few stuffed animals that were on display near the checkout counter. He picked up a small plushie of Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh, who somehow expressed incredible misery through printed-on eyes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________“Hey boss, kinda looks like you!” He said, raising the stuffed animal._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________“Very funny, Tim.” Jon was not amused. The other three were._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________As they went back to the hotel, the nighttime bright from the city lights, Martin’s good mood stayed wholly intact- and so did Jon’s. He liked that the stuffed animal he’d bought for Martin was not in his hands. That smile had been worth the twenty dollars. Jon chalked this up to the fact that high morale was good for an efficient team._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

________Jon said goodnight to the others when they got back, and when he collapsed on his bed, knew he’d be able to sleep tonight._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, good folks! i'm actually going to finally establish some sort of upload schedule (i know, crazy). so for now, you can expect new chapters on Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, because i've barely got anything else to do in quarantine. 
> 
> the next chapter is definitely going to be my favorite one to write, and will probably be split into two, so we'll get double the good times. yeehaw!


	8. Matchmaking Geniuses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is nearly double the length of usual so, you're welcome? (i was going to separate it into two but i planned out every chapter in my notebook and it looks REALLY cute and i couldn't fuck that up so)

Since he’d woken up, the morning had felt like one long, continuous shiver to Jon. 

The hotel room had still been cold, and he’d forgone taking a shower because being wet would not help the situation. He hoped that it would be warm enough when he came back that evening. Walking to the convention hall provided no relief, as it had been the coldest day yet of their trip. Now, even at the welcome desk of the conference, the air conditioning seemed to be on a little too high. It wasn’t like Jon had much body fat to keep him warm, either. The man is a stick. 

He picked up a schedule from the desk and leafed through it. Somehow, he’d managed to lose the one he had before, and needed to grab a new one. He had a vague idea of that day’s events, but beyond that… nope, nothing. 

About to stuff the pamphlet in his pocket, Jon heard a voice from behind.

“Hey. Jon, wasn’t it?”

He whipped around. It was that woman, Bridget, from the day before. He suddenly felt cornered into the area between the desk and the wall. “Bridget. Good to, uh, see you again.”

She smiled and picked up a schedule of her own. “Enjoying the conference so far, Jon?” she asked, obviously not caring much for the answer.

“Ah- yes. I am.” He scanned the schedule and saw her name listed under a seminar. “You’re, um, speaking tomorrow?”

Bridget nodded. “Indeed I am. You should make sure to come. Maybe discuss it with some of those drinks I mentioned yesterday?”

This didn’t happen often. Jon had no clue what to do. Maybe she really was just interested in the institute, though? Wanted some feedback on her seminar? He panicked when Bridget put her hand on her hip and lifted an eyebrow. She wanted an answer.

“I- I uh, well- sure?”

She gave him a small smile and looked him over once. “Meet me at the hotel bar. Thursday, 9 o’clock,” she said, leaving no room for argument. Jon didn’t even have time to squeak out a response before she’d walked away.

“Okay, then,” he said, and let out a sigh of relief. That was… something. 

“Hey, boss!”

Well wasn’t this just exactly what Jon needed.

“Interesting interaction you just had there, pretty awkward, but she’s cute,” Tim said, leaning on the desk. Jon hadn’t noticed him around before he’d spoken, but then again, he’d been focused on other things.

“I- no, wait, wha-”

“Anyways, seems like you’ve got quite the full schedule already, but the others and I were thinking about grabbing some drinks tonight. Since it seemed like you actually might’ve had a good time last night- like, wow- figured I’d extend an invitation to you.” 

Jon drummed his fingers on the desk, thinking. “I’m not going to stay out late or have more than a couple drinks, if that’s your plan. We are here for work, after all.”

“Of course not, boss,” Tim said. “I would never dream of having fun.”

Jon huffed at this, but he didn’t want them to stop inviting him to things. Even if he often didn’t want to go with them- he did have more important things to do- he at least wanted the option. Besides, a couple drinks couldn’t be so bad. He wouldn’t stay out too long and definitely, definitely would not get drunk.

\- - - - - - - - - -

“Okay!” Sasha slammed her glass down on the table. “Okay. Fuck, marry, kill, British government edition: Winston Churchill, Prince William, Boris Johnson.”

Martin wrinkled his nose. “Thanks for that one. Erm… fuck Prince William, marry… Churchill? Kill Boris.”

Tim laughed. “Interesting decisions, but understandable.” He scooted a little closer to Sasha.

They were all rather cramped in the booth. Tim and Sasha had immediately sat down next to each other, and that left Jon to slide in beside Martin. Despite the tight fit, Jon did his best to keep at least an inch or two between them. He didn’t want to make Martin uncomfortable. Obviously, Tim and Sasha had no such reservations. 

“Another round?” Tim asked. 

“How about we move on to something else,” Jon said. Tim just laughed.

“Nah man, I mean another round of drinks. On me!”

Sasha leaned against Tim, her head only a few inches above his shoulder, looking at him teasingly. “Oh, because you make that much as an archival assistant?”

“Shove off! We’ve got the same position, Sash. If you’ve got such a fortune, come get them with me,” he said, and they stood to weave through some people to the bar. Jon and Martin, left alone at the booth, scooted slightly more apart. 

“Do you think they’re…?” Martin looked inquiringly at Jon.

He shrugged. “It is very, very possible.”

Another moment passed. Martin looked down at the table and then back at Jon. “Oh, um, I just wanted to say thanks- again- for the stuffed animal last night. It’s- well, it’s stupid, but I really love it. Just wondering, how did you… know I liked Pua?” he asked.

Jon covered his face with the sleeve of his jumper as he began to feel it heat. He’d barely had two drinks, but then again, he’d never been all too tolerant. They must’ve already been getting to him.

“Well, I remember that when that movie was coming out, you were really excited for it? And your computer, um- it was your background. For a bit. I just, uh, I just noticed.”

Martin nodded. “Well, thank you. It really was… nice. Of you.”

“You bring me tea nearly every day- really good tea, by the way- sorry- but um, I figured it was… the least I could do?”

Jon noticed a pink rising to Martin’s face as well. Perhaps his drinks were getting to him as well. 

At that moment, Tim and Sasha sat back down and slid a glass to them each. Jon had only meant to stay for a little bit- he had work to do and didn’t want to feel like shit in the morning. Still, he was… well, he was having fun. He didn’t want to give that up just yet. So, he took a sip and laughed to some joke Tim made that he hadn’t even heard in the first place.

“Okay- okay and then Elias says-” Sasha began to giggle, mainly talking to Tim, “this little fucking man says to me- ‘you can’t wear that bright of a yellow.’ Can someone tell me where the fuck in the Magnus employee handbook it says I can wear yellow but not _that_ bright of a yellow? Am I crazy??!” 

Martin leaned forward, laughing, his eyes doing that crinkly thing again that made Jon heat up even more. “He once told me that I couldn’t wear socks with stripes on them. Like anyone is walking down into the fucking bowels of the Magnus Institute and judging the whole ass establishment on my striped socks!”

Tim took a large sip and tilted his head back, laughing as well. “Damn Elias Doucheard. Well Sash, I thought you looked good in the yellow. It matches your… you know.”

“Eloquent,” Jon said, but he couldn’t help but let out a laugh as well. 

“Does it now, Tim?” Sasha asked. Jon and Martin exchanged a glance with each other. 

“Indeed you did, although in my opinion, you look good any given day. I don’t know why Elias ever hired you if he hates workplace distractions so much.”

Sasha leaned in closer to him. “Is this distracting?”

Oh, and then they were… yep. Jon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. They didn’t stop.

Martin looked at Jon. “Should we- should we just…?” 

Jon nodded, picked up his drink, and sprung out of the booth as fast as possible. Martin got up as well and they waited for another moment, seeing if Tim and Sasha would stop, but it didn’t look like they were going to. The two rather tipsy men fled the booth and landed against a nearby wall. Now, out of earshot from the others, they doubled over laughing. 

When Jon straightened again, he watched Martin lean back against the wall. “Oh my god,” he said, and Jon thought that to summarize the situation fairly well.

“How are they that drunk? They started making out in the middle of a conversation, that’s not normal,” Jon said, but his tone was light.

“Yeah, I don’t think it would’ve been a stretch for them to do that sober.” Martin smiled at him, and Jon noticed that his shirt wasn’t buttoned as high as usual. He took his attention off of it and back to Martin’s eyes. 

Someone _very_ drunk doing karaoke tried to hit a high note. It didn’t go well. Having only just recovered from the last situation, Jon dissolved again into a laughing fit. “Oh, dear lord, I hope they’re at least having fun,” he said.

“Seems it.” Maybe Jon imagined it, but Martin moved a little closer. “I’d be doing so much karaoke right now if I could actually sing. Hey, didn’t you have like, a really successful college band?”

Any laughing Jon may have done at the bad singer stopped immediately. He froze, mortified. “Shit. I didn’t think you guys knew about that.”

Martin covered his mouth in shock and slowly turned in Jon’s direction. “Okay, so, we might’ve Googled you when you first started working as our boss. Maybe. And we may have seen that you were the lead singer of The Mechanisms. And… I may have listened to some of your music. Most of it. Maybe.”

Jon sighed and took another sip of his drink- he’d need it. “Okay, we were- mildly successful. Please don’t say you saw pictures…?”

“Jon, I totally looked at the pictures. Also, why do you have a Facebook set up when you have literally never posted anything on it?”

“That-” Jon pointed at him- “was Georgie, not me. She thought it would be good for me to have some sort of social media to connect with people, even if it was the ‘suburban mom’ social media. I never did quite get that.”

Martin swirled around his glass a little. Jon noticed him bite his lip lightly. “Georgie?”

“Oh.” Jon snorted. “My ex girlfriend. Sorry.”

Martin didn’t say anything else for nearly a minute. He just stared out into the crowd of people. “Well, anyway, you should do one of your songs. Show that New York crowd what you’ve got!”

Jon shook his head. “Absolutely not. I think I’d need another two drinks in me before I got that stupid. I am not the type for drunk bar karaoke.”

  
  


Tim pulled away from Sasha, looking around the room. He focused in on Jon and Martin in the corner, talking and laughing. He noticed a few nervous glances between the two and- oh, there it is, Jon was totally staring at the part of Martin’s shirt that he’d left unbuttoned. Tim had told him to do that.

“Sasha, I think it’s working,” he said. She followed his gaze to where the two men stood, leaning against the wall.

“Hell fucking yes it is!” She lifted up a hand for him to high five. “Matchmaking geniuses over here.”

Tim tilted his head in a little closer to hers. “And now that we know it worked…”

  
  


One and a half drinks later, Jon and Martin sat next to each other at the bar. The bartender kept looking over at them, obviously amused by something. Jon set down his glass and got up from the stool. “Martin Blackwood, I- I cannot believe you are making me do this.”

“I mean, I’m really not, but-”

“You scoundrel of a man,” he laughed, and grabbed the bar stool for support. “No- I’m fine.”

“Christ, Jon, you’re so tiny- you’ve probably drank a third of your body weight!” Martin said, but still not hesitating to take a sip from his own glass.

Jon stopped walking to the front of the bar and whirled around. He hadn’t gone far anyway. “I am not tiny.” 

Martin stifled a laugh. “Jon, you’re like, 5’5, and I hardly even believe that- I’ve become pretty certain that you wear shoes with lifts. I could probably carry you above my head if I tried.”

Jon leaned back in his shoes and felt the raised heels. That same heat rushed to his face again and he looked at the ground. “Shhhh, I do not wear lifts in my shoes, that’s- that’s ridiculous!”

He watched Martin nod, in that slow way that said ‘I totally and entirely do not believe you.’ Jon turned on his (lifted) heels. “I am going to prove to you that I am small but mighty! I am no coward!” He marched up to the DJ, and Martin watched him undoubtedly request a song for karaoke. 

Martin made his way to the booth where Tim and Sasha still were, thankfully sitting about an inch apart. “Guys, guys, I got Jon to do karaoke. Oh my god!” he began laughing again, and slid into their booth.

“You mean our boss, Head Archivist Jonathan Sims, is going to be singing karaoke at eleven o’clock at night in a New York bar?” Tim asked, incredulous but with eyes lighting up.

“That is absolutely who I mean- and even better, he’ll be singing a song from his old band!” Martin said. He squeaked just a little bit. 

Sasha had taken a sip and had to cover her mouth. She swallowed quickly and looked back up at Martin. “You mean the band. That we found before. That band. He’s singing a Mechs song? This night literally could not have gone any better.”

“This is amazing,” Tim said. “Well, there is a way it could have gone better- have y’all kissed or fucked yet or something? Because that would be fantastic.”

Martin inhaled so sharply that he began coughing. “Wait what- no!! No!! What?! Tim!”

Sasha looked at Tim and essentially ignored Martin. “Ah, denial. How adorable.”

It was at that moment that they heard a light melody begin to play. Martin switched his gaze to the front, where Jon- ridiculous, beautiful- what, and definitely drunk Jon swayed to the beat. He lifted the microphone to his mouth and started to sing. 

Maybe a few words were mixed up or slurred, but damn, Jon did sound amazing. Martin couldn’t help but entirely fixate on him. Every other sound was blurred out and the lights of the small stage beamed down on him, illuminating him more than anything else in the room.

“Jesus, Martin, are you even blinking? Get a damn room,” Sasha laughed. Martin flipped her off.

“Was it not you two who started making out next to your coworkers in a very public setting?” Martin said. 

“Fair point.”

It wasn’t long before Jon wove his way back through the many bodies in the bar, returning to where the rest of them sat. He dropped back into the seat and folded his arms. “I told you I’m not a coward, Martin, so- so fuck off,” he said jokingly. 

“Your voice is incredible,” Martin said.

Jon did not know how to respond to this, sober or drunk.

“I, um- thanks. Thank you.”

“You know, you shouldn’t hide something like that,” said Martin. “You- you know, you’ve um, got… talent. Yeah. You’re amazing.”

Jon looked directly into Martin’s eyes. He didn’t do so often, not with anyone. “You really think that?”

Martin nodded. “Yes. I… I do.”

Shit. 

Jon broke whatever had happened between them and quickly looked away. This time, it was Tim and Sasha who shared an inquisitive glance with each other. He quickly searched for a different topic to talk about. “So, are you two… together?” he asked.

Sasha shook her head. “No, no, definitely not. We just have a good time every once in a while. Tim’s hot.”

“Definitely not? You’re that appalled at the thought of dating me?” Tim joked, hand raised to his heart in mock pain.

“Oh, shut up,” she said. “We’ve talked about this Tim.”

“...Well then. I don’t know about you guys, but I? Am spent.” Tim downed the last of what was in his glass and pushed it away. “The fact that I have to be awake in eight hours is terrifying.”

Jon snorted. “Make your statement, then.”

“Did you just- did you just make a joke about your precious statements?” Sasha gasped. “Jonathan, I’m appalled.”

“I-” Jon, unfortunately, downed the last of his drink- “am your boss and I can say whatever the fuck I want about those statements.”

Tim gathered all their empty glasses and stood. “I am now entering a state of mind where I cannot tell if I am dreaming. I very much might be.”

“I agree,” Sasha said. “I feel great! It means I am so gonna feel like shit later.”

“Mm.” Jon pulled a ‘Sasha’ and dropped his head onto the table. “Tired.”

Martin looked at him fondly. “Tired already?” Jon picked his head up slightly and nodded before letting it fall back down. “Yeah, we should probably head out then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks! for reading!!  
> also how bout that new ep today folks??? jon layin down that fire beat huh. i also joined the Rusty Quill discord last night and i am having a GREAT time. we're a ridiculously fantastic fandom in my humble opinion. oh and yes, jon lets down 60% of his guard when drunk and does NOT hesitate to speak his thoughts lmao
> 
> something just crashed outside my room it is very windy right now oh no anyway
> 
> yeehaw!


	9. Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for updating this at like 10:30 at night lmao (in my timezone). blame the RQ discord server for distracting me, it's their fault

  
  


Jon greatly looked forward to collapsing in his hotel room. He already had a bit of a headache, and the energy of the night had worn off a half hour before. At that point he just felt tired, unfocused, and like a general disaster.

He managed to swipe the key card on the door’s lock. Upon entering, he froze from an unexpected blast of cold air.

Somehow, the hotel room had become not only uncomfortable, but actively colder than outside. Late November didn’t offer much in the way of heat and the room managed to go under that. He shut the door behind him and leaned against the wall, just so fucking tired- and cold.

He couldn’t sleep in this. Even with five blankets, Jon knew he would be shivering all night.

 _Tonight? Really?_ Jon sighed and stumbled back out the door. Despite having been in the hallway only a minute before, the bright lights hurt his eyes as he made his way to the elevator. 

Jon walked up to the front desk of the hotel. An exhausted looking employee stood behind the desk, obviously not expecting to talk to anyone for the rest of the night. It _was_ after twelve. She quickly shoved her phone in her pocket and blinked up at Jon. The tall cup of coffee on the counter didn’t seem to have done enough.

“Can I help you, sir?” She asked, plastering on a tired smile.

“Sorry, I- in my room. It’s uh, it’s really cold and- I’ve been turning the thermostat up for a few days now, but it just seems to get colder… yeah.” Jon hoped he at least sounded semi-coherent. He sure couldn’t tell.

“Well, I’m sorry for the inconvenience. What room are you staying in?”

“Um- 820.” He showed her the key card.

“Alright, we’ll send someone in maintenance to check it out. In the meantime, would you like a complimentary beverage or food item from our store? For the trouble.” Her name tag said _Marietta._ That made sense. She looked like a Marietta. What did that mean? Jon had no idea. His brain had checked out around three hours prior. 

Jon shook his head. “No, thank you, I’ll be alright.” He went to sit at the same table he had Monday morning, a day before. Well, technically, two days before. It was officially early Wednesday morning, and it had not been the night Jon intended.

Because he’d gotten drunk, and talked with Martin for so long, and joked with his coworkers. He’d sang _karaoke_ of one of his own damn songs. And it had been… fun. 

He had fun.

While Jon sat and waited for his room to be checked, his mind strayed to places they never would if he’d been entirely sober. Sometimes they went so far as to include Martin’s eyes and smile. Those were the thoughts Jon pushed away as soon as he could. 

Martin had worn his shirt more unbuttoned than usual. His semi-curly hair had been brushed out, and maybe had some product in it- perhaps that was why it shined so much under the cheap bar lights. There had been warmth in his cheeks too, as well as in his eyes when he talked to his friends. Were they friends? Jon couldn’t tell. He knew that Tim, Sasha, and Martin were all friends. But he still hung on the outside, a spectator into their dynamic.

Did Martin consider him a friend?

“...Excuse me? Sir?”

Jon snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at Marietta, with another man beside her. “Sorry- yes?”

The man cleared his throat and began to talk. “Unfortunately, the heating and air conditioning system into your room has broken. We’re still investigating if this has happened in other rooms connected to the same system, but yours is the first we know of it.”

Marietta continued from there. “We could put you in another room, but I saw that your current one was booked through a conference here, so we would have to go through them to transfer- it’s no problem, but it would take a bit of processing time. Is there anyone else in your party that you could stay with? If not, again, that’s no problem,” she said.

All Jon wanted was a glass of water and a fucking bed. Somehow, his hazy brain managed to remember a small piece of information from Sunday. He had to keep himself from groaning out loud. 

\- - - - - - - - - -

At nearly one in the morning, Jon stood with suitcase in hand and knocked on the door numbered _1032._

No answer. Jon waited another minute and knocked again, a little harder.

He heard footsteps from inside and watched the door handle turn. It opened into a dark room, with gentle light from the city flowing in through the window.

“What-” Martin softened his tone as his eyes filled with recognition. “Oh, Jon. Are- are you alright?” He glanced down to the suitcase.

Martin wore sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, his hair out of place and eyes unfocused from sleep. “I’m terribly sorry to have woken you up,” Jon said.

“No, no, it’s- it’s perfectly fine. What do you need?” he asked. Concern edged into his voice.

“Can I, um. Can I come in?”

Martin opened the door wider and stepped back. “Yes, of course, Jon.” He turned on a lamp inside, and the room glowed with the dim light. They stood awkwardly facing each other, before Jon realized that he should probably explain.

“Again, I’m sorry to show up here without warning. My room- there was some sort of heating mix-up and it’s freezing, so I reported it to the hotel maintenance, and they said that processing a different room assignment would take some time, and I remembered that you have two beds, and so… yeah. I’m here. Is that alright?” he asked timidly.

Martin took his suitcase and wheeled it next to the bed closest to the window. He smiled, and Jon wondered how he ever could have been worried. “You can stay in this bed.”

“Really, thank you, Martin,” Jon said, already sitting down on the bed- it felt nice. “I feel a little like death and desperately want to collapse on a bed.” He fell backwards and closed his eyes for a brief moment. 

Martin sat on his own bed and crossed his arms. “Jon, you _cannot_ go to sleep like that. Take your shoes off and brush your teeth at the very least. Alcohol corrodes your teeth and consumption puts you at a higher rate of oral cancer.”

Jon turned on his side and kept his eyes closed. He raised his knees a little further to his chest. “Yes, and sleep deprivation shortens your lifespan,” he said, but he knew that he didn’t have a chance in this argument.

“My hotel room, my rules, Sims,” Martin said. Jon groaned and sat back up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. 

Jon took his toothbrush from the suitcase. “I am going to be so grateful in the morning but I don’t care right now,” he called on the way to the bathroom. 

He brushed his teeth and splashed water over his face, listening to the sounds of Martin moving about in the room. The thought of how all this would feel in the morning was not a pleasant one to Jon. So, he focused on the present- how glad he was for a place to stay the night, and how strangely happy he felt that this place was Martin’s hotel room. 

Jon sat back down on the bed and slid his shoes off. He looked up at Martin, who had already gotten under his comforter. “You happy now?” he asked.

Martin looked him over and nodded. “Very. Ready for me to turn the light off?” 

“Uh, sure.”

Martin clicked the lamp and the room went dark. Jon got under the sheets and stole a glance at the shadowy shape of Martin before turning away. He stared at the buildings outside the window, which were just visible through the sheer curtains. He felt strange saying ‘goodnight,’ and so neither of them did. 

When Jon’s mind had reached somewhere halfway to sleep, his brain fuzzy and still clouded by leftover intoxication, the question surfaced again. It stirred around in that state between consciousness and unconsciousness. He floated in that part of sleep where reality might not be reality anymore but it is so, so close.

And that is why, with eyes closed and his mind in a daze of near-sleep, Jon didn’t realize he'd spoken even while he did. “Martin?”

A sleepy “Hm?” in response.

“Are we friends?”

Jon fell asleep before he heard the answer. Or maybe he didn’t- either way, he was not fully aware when Martin’s voice came again, soft and timid in the darkness.

“Yes, Jon. We’re friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and they were ROOMMATES
> 
> as always, thank you for reading! and yes, i pulled the 'roommate' trope. but this is a travel fic, if this wasn't what y'all expected, then idk what you were, and they're certainly not expectations i can live up to lmao. this chapter is a lil short- my apologies- but you can trust that i still spent a good 3 hours writing it
> 
> yeehaw!


	10. Professionalism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a short one y'all but we are gonna have some fun real soon here,, in multiple ways

  
  


Jon woke up incredibly disoriented and with a _raging_ headache. 

At first, as he opened his eyes and stared out at the slowly brightening city, he thought that he was in his own hotel room. But then he heard the sounds of someone else walking around and sat straight up.

That was when Jon remembered the night before, and he sighed in relief. Martin jumped from his sudden movement. “Oh, Jon! You’re awake,” he said. Jon’s momentary adrenaline wore off and the grogginess came back. He sagged against the headboard.

“Fuck, I feel like absolute _shit_.” His head pounded and he was having trouble moving his limbs. Martin smiled pityingly at him from across the room, where he stood making tea on a small shelf. The hotel’s hot water machine made a low gurgling noise as it heated up. 

“Do you want some tea?” He asked, already ripping open two tea bags. 

Jon muttered an “uh huh” and closed his eyes. Memories of last night all, unfortunately, came rushing back. He opened his eyes again when he heard Martin walking toward him, and he took the mug of hot tea. Martin still had his sweatpants on, but had obviously made an effort to make his hair look at least semi-presentable. Overall, it had a tame shape, but a few pieces still stuck out or hung down in his face. Jon felt strangely fond of his assistant in that moment. 

He groaned and took a tiny sip of the tea as Martin sat down on the other bed. His mind tried to piece together the events of the night before, and failed miserably somewhere around… Tim and Sasha making out?

Oh, but he did remember a few things.

“Martin- did I actually sing karaoke at the bar last night?” he asked.

Martin blushed a little before nodding. “Yes… you did. Elysian Fields was the one, I think.”

“...Did Tim and Sasha actually make out for a strangely- _extended_ period of time?”

“Yep. That also happened.”

Jon sighed and sunk further down into his bedsheets. “And… you found I wear lifts in my shoes?” he asked, knowing that if the rest was true, that probably was as well.

Martin had just taken a sip of tea and had to slap his hand over his mouth. After a painful swallow, he bursted out laughing. “Wait, wait, wait- I was _right_ about the lifts? I knew it!” He pumped a fist in the area and fell back onto his elbows. 

Dammit- Jon hadn’t actually given Martin confirmation about the lifts. The news would be all over the archives within two days of their return. Artifact Storage and the library would know by the end of the week. 

In one stupid night, he’d probably managed to ruin his coworkers’ perception of him. He had to act like a boss, not a reckless teenager. They could- could goof around all they liked, but Jon had an image to uphold. Despite his hangover and the fact that he was sitting in bed, he had to straighten things out, like his back against the headboard.

Next, his situation with Martin. “Again, my apologies for dropping in on your hotel room. I’ll be out of here by tonight- I’m sure I’ll be able to get another room assignment by then.”

Martin shrugged and swung his legs. “It’s- it’s no problem having you here, you know. I don’t mind,” he said. 

Jon couldn’t help but feel warm from what Martin said, but he shoved that down and refused to let it shake him. “Well, that’s very kind of you, Martin- but we must keep a semblance of professionalism while on this trip. We’re coworkers before anything.”

Something changed in Martin’s eyes and he looked at the ground. “Oh.” But then he lifted his gaze again and smiled at Jon- but it wasn’t one of those true Martin smiles, where his cheeks reddened and his eyes brightened. “Yeah, we- yeah. You’re right. I’m, uh, I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize, Martin, you did nothing wrong,” Jon said. With great difficulty, he pushed off the covers and stood. He’d forgotten- the clothes he wore were the same as the night before. He checked the clock on the nightstand, 7:12. There should be time to properly shower and change, so he didn’t look and smell a mess. 

“Is it alright if I use the shower?” he asked. Martin nodded and downed the last of his tea, staring absentmindedly at a spot on his comforter.

Jon searched around in his suitcase for his clothes and walked to the bathroom, where he closed the door and slid against the wall to the ground. This morning hadn’t gone well for him so far, and all he could think about was Martin’s disappointed face. 

\- - - - - - - - - -

“What did you guys think of that woman’s seminar- Bridget, I think her name was?” Sasha asked. The four of them stood around a table in the refreshment area of the convention center. Jon’s foot hit a light as he shifted uncomfortably, but he took no notice of this. 

Tim shot a sly look at Jon. “I happen to know that Seminar Bridget asked Jon to get drinks tomorrow night,” he said, winking. Jon visibly recoiled.

“...Oh?” Martin asked. He ran his fingers through his air and dropped his eyes to the ground.

“Yes, she did, but- but it’s nothing like _that_ , she’s just- well, she’s just interested in our institute and wants some feedback on her seminar! Look,” Jon pulled out a notebook from his bag, “I even took notes to discuss.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Jon, I thought that it wasn’t ‘your style’ to do that kind of thing? Up top, though, Bridget’s hot.” She lifted her hand as if for a high five. Jon gave her a death glare instead. 

“Nothing of- of _that_ sort will be occurring tomorrow night. I barely said yes anyway; she cornered me. I didn’t have much choice,” said Jon, trying and failing to defend himself. The three looked at him incredulously.

“Well… _anyway,_ I thought her seminar was quite interesting! I do think she is correct in that a digital format often takes some of the integrity of an original document. The penmanship and physical aspects of a document can be important factors of its meaning, especially pre-computers,” Martin said.

“Is that what she was saying?” Tim asked jokingly. “I missed a good portion of it. Like Sasha said before, she’s a hot one. So was the guy who came on before her. I’m getting his number before this trip ends and no one can stop me.”

Sasha lightly punched him on the arm. He touched the spot and stepped back, acting deeply shocked. “I thought you explicitly said we weren’t dating! I have _rights_ , Sasha James.”

“He probably lives in America anyway,” she said. Tim shrugged.

“Then if and when I end up back here, I’ll have someone to call.” He laughed and raised an eyebrow at Sasha’s annoyed expression. With that face, Jon had no doubt that Tim could get the man’s number- or Bridget’s. Hey, maybe Tim could just go get drinks with Bridget in place of him. Jon had no interest in the woman. 

“I… actually had an idea, guys, if you’re up for it,” Martin said, voice small and quiet. The others stopped teasing and looked at him. “I really, really want to go ice skating at Rockefeller Center, but apparently it’s too crowded to do much after about 4 o’clock, and we’re not staying for the weekend. So…”

“If you are suggesting we skip the second half of the conference today and fuckin go ice skating I am _so_ in,” Tim said, resting a hand on Martin’s shoulder. He looked at it, confused, and then back to Tim.

Sasha sighed and pretended to consider the options. “I mean, I know I probably shouldn’t, but if you two aren’t staying, I sure as hell am not,” she said.

The three looked to Jon, who stiffened. “There’s a workshop happening that I’ve been preparing for. It may be helpful for me taking on the task of organizing the archives. We’re here for work, and to be part of a global community of institutions similar to us.”

Tim pouted and gave him classic ‘puppy dog eyes,’ which did nothing to change Jon’s mind. But Martin gave him a hopeful smile, and Jon again felt bad for what he’d said earlier that morning. He’d never say it, but he had to make up for it.

Jon sighed and shoved the notebook back in his bag, frowning. “Sure. Fine. Only so I can have the, um… ‘New York experience.’”

“ _Hell_ yeah! The gang’s going ice skating,” Tim exclaimed. Sasha and Martin laughed, already packing up their things, and Jon hoped that he could perhaps rectify his image on this outing. Maintaining professionalism is incredibly important for a workplace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, my friends!
> 
> wonderful news: this fic has reached over 1,000 hits!!! i know that isn't a huge number or anything, but i still didn't really expect it and i'm incredibly grateful to everyone reading. i've put a lot into this story and will continue to do so. 
> 
> also, i worked out a good way to do scar makeup, might cosplay Jon sometime soon? did a Nikola makeup look the other night and had a fantastic time so. yeehaw!


	11. The City of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got another extra long one for y'all today! some cute times w the boys before things get Funky

Jon no longer felt as shit as he did in the morning, which was a relief. His headache had left, and now all that remained was a constant exhaustion that threatened him with collapse at any moment. 

Well, that may have been a bit over-dramatic. He knew he wouldn’t collapse, but still decided not to make any promises to himself. 

After begrudgingly paying for admission and selecting (embarrassingly small) ice skates, he sat on a bench next to the rink and laced them up. A few feet away, Martin did the same, shivering slightly but smiling all the while. After finishing with his shoes, Martin looked up and gazed around the rink and general area in awe. Rockefeller Center had recently been decorated for Christmas, and the famous tree stood tall and beautiful beside the ice.

Martin had been right, the rink looked significantly less crowded than often seen in films, most likely because it was around 1 in the afternoon. Still, the festive air and bite of the cold created an undoubtedly enjoyable atmosphere. 

Sasha had just stepped on to the ice, and skated with an easy glide. She even threw in a turn. Tim stood at the edge of the rink and called out to her. “Where did you become so good at ice skating?” he asked, leaning against the side.

Sasha heard his question and skated back to the wall, lightly holding it from the other side. “I took lessons for quite a few years as a kid. Didn’t do much of anything with it, but I still try to keep up my skills,” she said.

Tim nodded, impressed. “There must be a lot I don’t know about you.”

Sasha laughed and started to skate again, pulling herself into a tight turn. “Tim, you couldn’t even guess.”

Jon watched her graceful form glide around the rink and suddenly became far more nervous than he’d been before. Still, it couldn’t be too terribly difficult, right?

Standing next to him, Martin offered out a hand to Jon. “Ready to hit the ice?” he asked.

Jon scoffed. “I don’t need assistance in standing up, Martin.” Martin dropped the hand and shrugged.

Jon put his hands on the bench to steady himself and went to stand, a little too quickly. His feet moved under him and he leaned back, catching himself on the bench. He hung there for a moment with a slightly terrified look in his eyes.

Martin covered his mouth with a colorful, gloved hand and laughed. He had a similarly colored knitted scarf. “...Are you certain?”

He stood successfully this time, and took his hand off the bench. “Yes, yes I am,” he said flatly. Slow and careful, he made his way to the edge of the rink, where Tim had just stepped on the ice. Tim smiled and spread his arms, skating backwards a little. Seemed his skills weren’t bad as well.

“Martin, my man! Thanks for suggesting this. I might not be Olympics over there-” he pointed his thumb back to where Sasha skated with one leg raised behind her- “but I know my way around the ice.” He skated in a small circle.

“Where’d you, uh, where’d you learn?” Martin asked. 

Tim came back to touch the wall of the rink and shrugged. Jon hung on much more intensely, only one foot on the ice. “I didn’t, really,” he said. “Just went to a ton of birthday parties as a kid. Got good at ice skating from it.”

Martin nodded. He gingerly stepped on the ice and did a little bit of a skate, not as showy as Tim or Sasha. He didn’t look nervous, but also wasn’t entirely confident. “Jon, you coming?”

Jon gave him a nervous smile and stepped on to the ice with his other foot. “Sure, uh- sure thing. Just um, give me a moment here…”

“Right.” Tim sent him a couple finger guns. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat, Sasha looks like she could _really_ use a good nuisance right about now, so I’ll just leave you two!” He skated off in the direction of Sasha, who stopped her figure eight to come closer to him. They were nearly on the other side of the rink. 

“I think I’ll uh… go get a closer look at the, um, the Christmas tree,” Martin said. He fidgeted with his hands. “You good here…?”

Jon stepped away from the wall and panicked. He immediately threw his arms back over it. “Yes, I’m um. Great. Doing great.” It was proving difficult to keep a professional, distinguished demeanor while hunched over the wall of an ice skating rink, especially without lifts in and therefore a good seven inches shorter than Martin. 

“Are you certain? You look like you’re…” Martin obviously struggled to find the next words to use. “Having a little difficulty?”

Jon’s grip tightened on the wall as his feet slid a little. “No, not- not at all.”

Martin crossed his arms and took a step back. “Jon- have you ever _been_ ice skating before?” he asked.

Looking down at the ice, Jon shook his head. 

“That makes a lot more sense, then,” Martin remarked. He outstretched a hand once more. “Now will you _please_ let me help you?” 

Jon’s hands stayed tight against the wall. “I’ll look ridiculous.”

“Not nearly as ridiculous as you look right now.”

Martin did have a point. Jon took his hand, cold and nearly numb fingers warming in contact with Martin’s gloves. “Fine.”

Slowly, Martin took a step back, and finger by finger, Jon released his other hand from the wall. He spread his feet apart and locked his knees, determined not to fall. Martin smiled, his nose and cheeks pink from the cold. “Good! You’re doing great, Jon.”

Jon knew this to be a lie, but still let the praise warm him- only on the inside. Even through his coat, Jon shivered.

“Alright, ready to start moving?”

He most certainly was _not_ ready to start moving, but nodded nonetheless. Martin took great care to go slowly as he began to skate, transitioning from in front of Jon to beside him, pulling gently. Jon didn’t move his legs as they traveled, just letting himself be pulled. He’d been frozen in fear before but was starting to get less tense. 

“See? Not so bad, is it.” Martin led them on a gentle curve, and Jon pulled himself closer to him. 

“No, I- I- I guess not,” he said, voice shaking through his constant shiver. Martin cast him a concerned glance.

“God, Jon, you’re freezing! That coat really is thin.”

“I’m _fi_ -” Jon noticed himself about to say the same phrase he’d repeated over and over before, snapping on autopilot. But he stopped. Most of why he’d agreed to come was to try and make it up to Martin- what he was making up, he didn’t entirely know, but he still knew he had to. Instinctively snapping at him would not help much. “Well, yes, I am a bit chilly. I- I run cold.”

Martin stopped skating and dropped Jon’s hand, who had to scramble to keep his balance. “Well _I_ run warm.” He took the scarf from his neck and wrapped it around Jon’s, who was paralyzed as Martin’s hands brushed against his neck. “That any better?”

Martin’s face was so close to his, breath coming out in small puffs that were clear in the cold air. Jon’s weren’t, considering that he held his breath without even noticing.

Jon nodded, at a momentary loss for words. His face flushed, and he could only hope that the scarf covered it. He looked down at the wool and rubbed a bit of the thread between two fingers. It was so warm and obviously well crafted, but the knitting didn’t look perfect as if it had been made by a machine. “I- well, um- thank you. Did you, uh- did you make this?”

Martin blushed. “Um, yes, actually. I… like knitting. Well, I really like arts and crafts in general, but knitting is so practical, you know? I, uh, I made these too,” he said, holding out his hands so that Jon could see the gloves. He wouldn’t have even guessed that they were handmade. 

“They’re- they’re, uh, they’re wonderful, Martin.”

The two stood there awkwardly for another moment until Jon’s legs slid out again, and he was caught by Martin before he could fall flat on his ass.

Sasha poked Tim’s shoulder. “Tim! Tim, look!” She pointed to the other side of the rink, closer to the Christmas tree. 

Tim turned around to see Martin gently wrapping his scarf around Jon’s neck, who was stiff and staring straight into his eyes. “Martin, jesus fucking _christ_ please kiss him already.”

Alas, he did not. Jon said something, and Martin pulled away, sheepishly shoving his hands in his pockets as he responded. Then he pulled them out again and showed Jon his gloves. “I bet he’s talking about knitting,” Sasha said. “Not that sexy, I guess, but adorable.”

“When is Jon going to stop living in denial?” Tim asked, still staring wistfully at them. 

“Not sure, but Martin realized he’s in love with Jon months ago. He puts an extra sugar in Jon’s tea, you know. It’s cute. And at least Jon seems to be acting like a _little_ less of a dick lately.” 

Martin caught Jon as he nearly fell, and Tim dissolved into a laughing fit. “Jon is- Jon is so shit at ice skating,” he said between wheezes. “I genuinely don’t think he’s ever done it before.”

“Do you want to go check out the Christmas tree?” Martin asked. Jon had just finally regained balance completely. 

“Uh- yes. Sure.”

Martin held out his hand again, and Jon took it with less reluctance this time. 

The Christmas tree towered above them, placed on top of a large wall on that side of the rink. Even during the day, its lights were dazzling. Jon didn’t have much of a festive spirit, if he were to be honest, but the world famous tree illuminated the love of the holiday season- even in Jon. They stared up at the huge, sprawling spruce.

Someone skated close by and Martin had to move out of the way, quickly dodging them. With most of his attention on the tree, his evasion caused him to go careening into Jon. 

Jon’s small, unsteady frame didn’t stand a chance against Martin’s larger one and was immediately knocked over. He grabbed on to Martin to try and stop himself, but he still fell to the ground. A hot pain ran up through the side of his lower leg and then there was a heavy weight on his chest.

The cold of the ice seeped through his jacket and hair, chilling him to the bone. He opened his eyes to see a mess of curly hair and knitted wool. Martin scrambled to prop himself up on his elbows, and stared straight at Jon in shock. 

Jon laid immobilized on the ice. Even if Martin’s weight hadn’t kept him entirely in place, he doubted he’d be able to muster the courage to move. After a moment of silence, Martin started to squeak out an apology.

“I- oh, Jon, I’m- I’m so sorry I can’t believe I did that!” He sat up, knees straddled on either side of Jon. “Are you- are you alright? Christ, I’m so sorry!”

Jon grimaced as he moved his foot. “It’s- it’s fine, Martin, I’m fine,” he said. 

Carefully, Martin climbed to his feet and helped Jon to do the same. When he stepped on the foot that had been so painful, it seared again, and he collapsed against Martin. “Sorry, sorry, I’m fine.” He planted a hand on Martin’s shoulder and stood up again, putting all his weight on the uninjured foot.

“Are you hurt, Jon? It’s easy to twist an ankle in skates,” said Martin. 

Damn, he’d really done the exact opposite of his goal to establish a more professional image. As if he had some dignity left to protect, Jon lied. “No, I- I think I’m alright.”

“Really?” he asked. “Try to walk on it, just to make sure.”

Jon gingerly stepped on the painful foot and immediately nearly fell over again. Martin grabbed him gently by the shoulders, taking a good amount of his weight. “You’re obviously not fine. Let’s get out of the rink.”

Martin steered him between any people that may have been skating near them, and Jon didn’t have the energy to fight against the assistance. He let himself be half carried.

When they finally stepped out of the rink, Jon could grab on to the wall, and Martin separated from him. Jon unlaced the ice skates and held them in one hand. “Sorry for- for, you know, ruining today. I’m sure it would’ve been much more fun without my- antics.”

Martin paused from taking off his own skates and looked up at Jon. “I… I had a great time, actually. Did- did you? Other than the whole-” he gestured vaguely to Jon’s leg- “situation there.”

“Yes, I- I um, didn’t mind it as much as I thought I would. I had… fun, I guess.”

Again, Martin supported most of Jon’s weight as he staggered to the bench from before, melting down on to it. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna find you some ice, or something, you alright?” Martin asked.

“It’s just my ankle, Martin, I think I’ll be okay,” Jon said. Martin nodded and hurried off to the desk where they sold passes and skates.

At that moment, Tim and Sasha walked up to Jon. He didn’t notice, and Sasha cleared her throat to get his attention. His head snapped up to look at them. “We saw you guys fall- you alright?” she asked.

“We’re fine, except my ankle’s twisted. I think Martin is getting some ice for it now.”

“Well…” Tim started. “Doesn’t seem like we can do much for you guys right now, so Sash and I will just chill back out in the rink for a few minutes! Right, Sasha?”

She sent him a sharp glare, but turned back to Jon and nodded. “Right. Yep. C’mon, Tim, let’s go then…”

Jon briefly wondered why they were acting so strange, but actively decided to ignore it. That wasn’t his business. His business was massaging his injured ankle, which had already begun to feel a bit better. 

“Tim, what was that?”

He leaned in close to Sasha, glancing in the direction of where Jon sat alone on the bench. “Did you see their fall? Martin stayed on top of Jon for like, a good minute. I could feel the tension from over here. We had to get out of there before Martin came back,” he explained.

Sasha huffed. “You’re not wrong. They need to get their damn act together.”

Tim shrugged and reached out to Sasha, twirling her in a smooth circle. “My money is on tomorrow.”

“You think they’ll pull it together by _tomorrow_?”

“Oh, hell yeah!” Tim said. “It’s the city of love, isn’t it?”

“That’s Paris, idiot.”

Martin returned with a bag of ice in one hand and to-go cup in the other. “I brought ice. And, um- hot chocolate. To apologize?”

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” Jon took the ice, but not the drink. “There’s no need to say sorry; it’s fine.”

Martin thrust the cup towards him. “No, please take it, Jon. It’ll help warm you up,” he said.

Jon grumbled something unintelligible, but took the hot chocolate anyway. Martin sat down next to him and fidgeted with his hands. 

He pressed the bag of ice down on the outside of his ankle, and it didn’t help with the cold. He raised the cup to his lips and drank the hot chocolate, as bad as he felt about the whole situation. Jon had swooped in on Martin’s fun afternoon, and took up all his time with his lack of ice skating competence. Then he hadn’t even been able to stay on his feet when Martin knocked into him accidentally, and now there he was, playing patient and having Martin buy drinks for him. And he’d definitely said something that had offended or upset Martin that morning, and he couldn’t get it out of his _head,_ it was all he could think about all-

“Did I say something this morning that upset you?” Jon blurted it out without thinking. Sometimes he lost all of his filter. 

Martin looked at him, confused. “What?”

“I- sorry. It’s nothing, it’s not important.”

Martin sighed and leaned microscopically closer to him. “Jon, I can tell that you’re overthinking something. What are you talking about?”

“I just- this morning, in ou- _your_ hotel room.” Jon hoped that Martin missed his mistake. “When we were talking, and I said something about- about maintaining, um, professionalism. Although that obviously didn’t really go well today, but, well, anyway… did I say something that offended you? Or upset you? You seemed… rather unhappy.”

Martin averted Jon’s gaze. “No, no, I don’t- I don’t remember anything like that. You didn’t offend me or anything. I’m sorry if I… gave off that impression?”

Jon took another sip of the hot chocolate- it was really good. “Oh. Okay. Good, then.”

Martin smiled, and met his eyes this time. “Yeah. Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, my friends!
> 
> also how bout that EPISODE today?? the soundscaping was honestly sublime in this one (although it's always amazing). but now i'm really sad bc i look forward to the new Magnus ep all week and now,, i have to wait,,, a whole ass week to get another one?? ew
> 
> anyway, hope y'all enjoyed this one, yeehaw!


	12. Time for Crime, Kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm yes i'd like one order of Feral Sasha. CW for minor blood mention, a little Spookiness, and our king Tim being sad. no editing we die like men here

“Are you  _ sure  _ you’re alright?”

Jon slid into the booth, which had been patched by duct tape in multiple areas. He’d gone to sit next to Sasha, but Tim had swooped in and taken the seat before he’d gotten the chance. Seems he should have expected that.

“Yes, Martin, it’s feeling far better.” There was still residual pain left in Jon’s ankle, but he hadn’t lied. The sprain must not have been very serious- his dignity had been damaged far more than his tendons. 

“Well, that’s a relief,” Tim said. “Especially considering that there aren’t any subway lines running near the convention hall. Getting there would be difficult with an injury.”

A waitress came over and took their order for drinks. They were sitting in a small diner on a street corner, charming and warm. The ceiling had been painted as the night sky, with swirling colors and dotted stars. A string of lights sat just above Jon’s head. They wrapped around every wall of the diner, juxtaposition to the gray of the sky outside. 

After they’d all put in drink requests (water for Jon and Sasha, tea for Martin, and diet coke for Tim) the topic from earlier picked back up.

“You know, it’s interesting that there aren’t any tube li-  _ subway _ lines- running near the convention call,” said Martin. “I was looking at a map, and they  _ are  _ there, they’re just closed? But like, not just one for construction. Multiple different lines are all closed in that area. Seems like they have been for a while.”

The waitress returned with their drinks and set them each down on the table. Tim grabbed one of the straws and ripped off the end of its wrapper, promptly blowing it at Sasha’s face. She swatted at him, but laughed. “That is… a bit strange, actually,” she said. 

“Eh, it’s probably fine.” Tim tore the weaponized paper wrapper in two, wadded it up, and simultaneously threw them at Jon and Martin. He missed Martin, and the ball flew somewhere between the wall and the booth. The other bounced off of Jon’s glasses. He pressed the paper together again and threw it back, missing horribly. 

“I think Sasha is right- that’s… odd,” Jon said. 

Tim leaned back in his seat, exasperated. He sighed in annoyance. “Guys,  _ please  _ do not go into Magnus Mode. Joe Spooky isn’t hiding out underneath our fucking archiving convention waiting to shank us all with a whittled femur.”

Sasha grabbed his head and positioned it straight again. He sent her a pouty look. “I don’t think that was ever on the table.”

“Can we just- have fun for a week here and leave the spooks to London?” he asked. 

“Oh, is research not enjoyable for you?” Jon stared at him, one eyebrow raised. Tim looked genuinely nervous. “Calm down. I was only joking.”

This shook Tim even more. “Sure then, boss man.  _ Anyway _ -” he stopped to look at each of the other three- “can we put this to rest then? Despite the fact it’s rather annoying.”

Martin opened his mouth to say something, but Sasha jumped in before he could. “Nope. I want to know what’s going on. I think we should go look,” she said.

“Go- go  _ look _ ?” Martin questioned. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean-” Sasha did a little failure of a shimmy- “we have an adventure! Let’s see what the hell is up with those subway tunnels, because there are like, three that run nearby and they’re all closed up in the same area.”

The others all began talking at once, but they quieted to Jon’s voice. “Sasha, no. I don’t know what they’ve laced your lemon water with, but that sounds like a terrible idea. Do you know anything about the US justice system? I do  _ not  _ want to be a foreigner caught trespassing on American soil. There are states here that still have the death penalty,” he said. 

Sasha snorted. “We wouldn’t get the death penalty. That’s ridiculous. If these tunnels have been closed for years, there’s probably no one down there anyway.”

“I don’t really like urban exploration,” Tim muttered, eyes downcast. 

Sasha groaned and rested her chin on her palm. “You guys are no fun. Come on, a little archive bonding experience?” 

“Fine, then. I’ll go with you.”

Jon turned to Martin, who had very surprisingly just agreed with her. He’d largely been quiet since she suggested it. Jon found he was strongly opposed to Martin venturing inside closed down subway tunnels. “No. No, you can’t do that, Martin.”

He shrugged and took a sip of his tea. “I brought it up anyway,” he said. “It’ll be… interesting?”

Jon put his palms to his eyes and took a few deep breaths. When he looked back at Martin, he didn’t even think about what he said next. “Well, if you’re going, so am I. I have to make sure you’re okay.”

“What am I? Minced meat?” Sasha asked, only mildly offended. Jon ignored her. 

Tim hadn’t stopped staring down at the table. Jon questioned if he was even listening until slowly, he raised his head. He didn’t focus on any of them in particular, and just looked out the window. “I- I won’t leave you guys either. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to any of you when I could have prevented it. I can’t- I can’t let that happen.”

“Oh, Tim…” Sasha said. “That’s very kind of you. But nothing bad is going to happen to us. I’ve done this kind of thing before.

Tim turned back to look at her, a far more serious expression on his face than Jon had often seen from him. “That doesn’t matter. Sash, you- you never know. If you’re going, I’m coming with you.”

As the waitress walked back over to take their food order, Sasha smiled and folded her hands decisively on the table.

“It’s decided then. Time for crime, kids.”

Tim sighed. “Can I at  _ least  _ eat my burger first?”

\- - - - - - - - - -

Sasha pointed at the yellow caution tape. “Here.” She turned around to look at the rest of the group, who hung back on the street corner. “Everyone’s phones charged? And have a flashlight?”

Reluctantly, they nodded.

“Good.” She surveyed the block around them. They’d found a subway entrance rather out of the way, not a main street, and considering it was about 4:00 on a Wednesday, not too many people passed by.

“If we see or hear a  _ single  _ person down there, we’re coming back up,” Martin said, voice shaking.

“Or anything else.” Tim stood with a stony look on his face.

Jon scoffed. “I thought you were the one telling us not to go into-  _ spooky  _ mode or whatever you said. There won’t be anything else down there,” he said dismissively. Tim didn’t respond.

“Yes, yes, we’ll leave if there seems to be anything weird,” Sasha said. “I’ll go in first. You guys cover me so no one sees.” 

Before the other three had a chance to move, she ducked under the tape, and Martin rushed to stand in front of the subway entrance. Jon and Tim quickly followed behind. She stood on a step a few feet down and looked up at them. “Who’s coming next?”

They looked to Martin, who had been the second most enthusiastic about this escapade- which wasn’t saying much. “Fine, sure, I’ll go next- cover me as well I guess?” He glanced around their area- one person had just walked by, who gave them a questioning look, but didn’t seem to be reporting them anytime soon. Martin took a deep breath and ducked under the tape.

After joining Sasha on the step, he took a tentative look down the stairs and into the intense darkness. He clicked his phone flashlight on.

Without having to be prompted, Tim went under the tape and down the stairs next. That left Jon alone at the top. He wasn’t normally all that frightened by most things, especially because he didn’t believe any of those damn statements. Still, his fears at being arrested were immeasurable. He had a clean record, after all. 

“Alright. Alright.” He took a deep, steadying breath and plunged in after them.

Despite that the light from the entrance could still clearly be seen about them, strangely, it didn’t seem to reach the stairs below. He could see maybe about three of them, and then… darkness. When Jon looked further down the stairs, which should’ve been short, he couldn’t see the bottom. He turned on his phone’s flashlight. 

“...You guys ready?” Martin asked, staring down into the darkness. 

Jon felt a sense of unease wash over him and he fidgeted with his hair tie. None of them were ready.

“Yeah, sure,” Sasha said. Tim reluctantly nodded as well. 

With flashlights aimed at the ground, they started down the stairs. The lights didn’t illuminate the general space around them- the beams stayed concentrated on one spot. It didn’t feel right. None of it felt right. But obviously, that was only because Jon had just walked into a closed down subway tunnel. It wasn’t  _ meant  _ for people.

He felt his feet touch on the hard tile of the subway station’s ground. Raising his phone, he shined the flashlight around him, but it barely did anything. The light illuminated maybe three feet in front of him, and then faded away.

“Is it… is it a bit  _ dark  _ in here to you guys?” Martin asked. His voice sounded just a bit higher than usual.

“We’re underground without a light source, yes, I’d say it’s dark,” Sasha said.

Jon knew exactly what Martin had really meant. “No, I… I understand. Yes, the darkness is strangely- pervasive.” They spoke quieter than usual, voices strained in the darkness. The light from the entrance to the station didn’t even remotely reach them.

“It’s alright. We should- should go further. We don’t have any answers yet,” Martin said. Somehow, Jon could tell that he was only saying this to put on a strong face. Martin wanted back to the surface, and Jon couldn’t blame him. Still, he felt an urging curiosity with this station. Jon knew they couldn’t leave now. 

They slowly carried on, sweeping their flashlights with each step. There were tile floors, a few columns, some discarded trash and blankets. They even went so deep as to pass some turnstiles, which they only saw because Tim nearly walked into one. He hadn’t said anything since the start of their expedition.

There were echoing sounds of clinking in the distance, but nothing that pointed to other people being there. Jon even thought he could hear the faint noise of a train in some other tunnel.

He had no idea what they were looking for. A clue as to why the station had been shut down, maybe? A big red sign that said “OUT OF ORDER!” or some smashed equipment? Certainly neither had appeared thus far. 

“Holy  _ fuck  _ what was that?!”

Sasha had stepped on something that made a sharp clanging noise on the tile ground. She jumped back and shined a light below her.

They crowded around a medium sized knife, dull and rusted. She crouched down to get a closer look. Upon a more in depth inspection, Jon saw that the knife hadn’t rusted- it was covered in dried blood. Before he could stop her, Sasha picked up the knife by it’s handle and shined her flashlight directly on it. 

“There’s an inscription,” she said, squinting to see the letters through the old blood. “It says-  _ Church of the Shadow  _ something. I can’t see the rest.”

Martin had his flashlight on something in a different direction, and called back over his shoulder. “Hey- guys? There are like, three lights over here- but they’re… stage lights? I don’t like this,” he said, voice shaking.

Sasha snapped a picture of the knife and stood up. From somewhere not far in the distance, there was a strangled cry. Sasha’s light went out. 

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” Tim said. There was another scream, and then silence. A sinking feeling filled Jon.

They didn’t need to be told twice. The four pelted back to where they thought the exit was, Sasha following the three lights of the others. Someone spoke in a low, muttering tone from behind them, but didn’t seem to be getting closer.

Finally, Jon saw sunlight. He ran up the stairs and out into the street first, not caring if passerbys saw him. He turned and peered back into the station entrance, relieved when the other three climbed out as well. 

They stood, panting in the painful sunlight.

“What- the-  _ hell _ \- was that?” Tim spoke between rushed breaths.

Surprisingly, Martin started laughing, first softly and then louder. The other three stared incredulously at him. “...Martin?” Sasha asked.

“Sorry, sorry, I just-” he stopped to try and control his laughter- “of course  _ we  _ would stumble into New York cult headquarters. Of all things, of course that’s where we found ourselves. Just an average Wednesday afternoon for employees of the Magnus Institute!”

No one else was laughing. He stopped. “Sorry. Pretty sure I’m just in mild shock. I don’t know how else to process what just happened. Sorry.”

Jon looked a block down the street, to where the Gasp convention hall was standing. “Well, we know our next researching task,” he said. “Church of the Shadow-something.”

Tim shot a glance back at the entrance of the station, which they were unconsciously walking away from. “We’ll get right on that, boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so very much for reading!
> 
> and now i am going to rant to y'all bc you are the One contact i have with the outside world right now! the AP World test for this year is fuckin WACK and im so mad. one question?? to determine if we get college credit??? one essay???? sorry Collegeboard y'all are LAZY and i won't back down on that. not gonna tell 'yall my age (probably a bad idea lol) but i'm two years younger than everyone else in my class and very busy so i've been working my ass off to get every single assignment in this year, and this?? is what we're given??? i mean i'm more fortunate than a lot of people right now, obviously, we're all going through a really tough time, but jesus christ i am NOT vibing
> 
> also i have a really bad headache
> 
> sorry if you read all that, thanks? if any of y'all are in the same boat, lemme know so we can scream together! anyway, yeehaw


	13. Nothing Like Trauma Bonding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all this whole chapter was only meant to be like a third of the next one, but of course i had to go off and write WAY more than i expected! so now you guys get an extra chapter, congratulations

Jon woke from an aggressive knock on the door. 

First, he looked over at Martin, who still slept peacefully on his bed. Rays of early sunlight fell onto his face and illuminated his hair, as he shifted and pushed his head further into the pillow. Jon couldn’t help but let a small smile play on his lips.

Yes, he’d meant to have his own hotel room by now, but after finding _ whatever that was  _ down in the subway the day before, room assignments fell pretty low on the priority list. They’d come back to their- Martin’s- room, and decompressed on the whole experience. Decompressed as in, Jon basically refused to talk about it and Martin made tea while attempting light conversation. You know, decompressing. 

Jon remembered the reason he’d woken up. He shoved his glasses on from the nightstand and went over to the door, about to open it before he remembered what happened the day before. There was another knock, even harder this time.

He looked through the peephole, expecting to see some blood-soaked murderer or maybe even the police, but he sighed in relief. It was only Sasha.

Jon tried to smooth down his hair a little and then opened the door. She stared at him, confused. “Jon? Oh wait, did you guys finally-” her eyes filled with understanding, and some disappointment. “Oh yeah, your room was all fucked up and now you’re staying with Martin. Forgot for a second- well, makes my life easier anyway. I looked into what we found yesterday.”

Jon stepped back and into the hotel room, allowing her to come inside as well. Martin was still fast asleep. After only two nights, Jon could tell Martin slept heavily.

“Martin is still asleep, so we’ll have to talk quietly,” he said.

Sasha shook her head. “No, he’s gonna want to hear this. Wake him up.”

He looked back at Martin, perplexed at the best way to do this. He’d try just by talking first?

Jon walked closer to him and sat on his bed. “Um, Martin- Martin?” No response. “Martin? Martin! Wake up!”

If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, and a very faint smile on his lips, Martin could’ve been dead. Jon huffed out a frustrated breath and stood next to where he was sleeping. “Martin?” Gently, he touched his hand to Martin’s shoulder. He tapped lightly, but could still feel Martin’s warmth. 

Martin had so many freckles, bright with the sunlight that fell on his face.

Jon realized that his hand had been still on Martin’s shoulder for longer than necessary. He brought himself back to the current task. This time, he started by grasping his shoulder a little firmer, but became nervous- what if Martin woke up and thought he was being weirdly aggressive? He didn’t want to- to  _ hurt  _ him, even if it was just a little. 

A piece of curly hair fell in front of Martin’s eyes as he shifted, and Jon tucked it back behind his ear without thinking. His hand moved to gently comb through Martin’s messy hair, lightly touching down to his neck. Now Jon had to fight to quell his smile as an undeniable warmth filled him. 

When Jon ran his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of Martin’s neck, Sasha said something from behind him. Only then did he remember that she was there. “Your- your loving caress is adorable and whatever, but please Jon, we do not have time for this right now.”

Jon snapped his head back to her, hand remaining on Martin. “I- I am  _ not  _ car _ ess _ -”

“...Jon?”

While he’d been looking away, Martin had opened one of his eyes. Jon turned back to him and froze. “I- Martin, oh!” He leapt back, pulling away his hand like he’d just been touching molten lava. Martin blinked a few times and sat up, pushing hair away from his face. 

“Sasha? What’s happening?” he asked, groggy from sleep.

Jon swallowed hard. “I was- um, I was just, uh, trying to- to wake you up, because. Because Sasha found some- some information and, um, you’re a bit of a- a heavy sleeper, I guess, I’m uh, yeah- Sasha, your research?”

Martin glanced between the two of them, confused. Sasha let out an exasperated sigh and pulled out her phone. “Sure.” She clicked at something on the screen and scrolled. “Just have to find my notes. Oh, Martin- I found some more information possibly regarding what we found yesterday,” she said.

He nodded, already coherent enough after just being woken up. Jon looked at him nervously, hoping that he somehow hadn’t realized what happened just a minute before. 

“Alright, here’s what I found: seems like the area we’re currently in has had some weird situations with crime before. Back in the 90’s, quite a few people went missing all sharing similar qualities- they were librarians, archivists, researchers, museum curators, the like. Academics. Started to go missing in the surrounding area around the time when a bunch of subway tunnels were closed because of ‘renovations.’ They still haven’t opened.”

Martin stared down at his bedsheets. “Why- why those people? People like us?” he asked. 

Sasha shrugged. “Not sure, maybe this weird cult thing just hates academia. Who fuckin knows.” She looked over at the blinking clock on their nightstand. “Anyway, I’m gonna leave for the conference soon. Walk there because the tube is shut down on account of it being spooky. Oh, and I gotta wake up Tim’s lazy ass- he refused to come with me to brief you. Anyway, I’ll see you guys there?”

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, running all that information through his head. “Yes, yes, we’ll see you there. Thanks for telling us what you found,” he said. 

Once the door clicked shut after Sasha, Martin leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes. “We couldn’t have one fun week in New York, could we?”

Jon sat back down on his bed, facing Martin. “No we could not.”

“Shouldn’t we tell the police about this or something?” Martin got out from under his covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed so that they were directly facing each other. There were red pillow marks on the side of his face.

Jon shrugged. “Yes, we probably should,” he said. “But there’s also the fact that the subway tunnels were officially closed off- the authorities obviously know  _ something.  _ And I don’t want to be found out for trespassing. We should wait until we have more information.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” said Martin, leaning forward and rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He sat back up and looked right at Jon. “You know, I’m- I’m sorry about yesterday. I’m not sure what I was thinking, really, going along with Sasha’s idea like that. I guess I just- didn’t want to seem so  _ afraid  _ for once?”

Jon tilted his head. “I’m not quite sure I know what you mean, Martin.”

He sighed and combed through his hair again. “I just- I  _ know  _ how everyone sees me, how  _ you  _ see me, and for once, I just wanted to… I don’t know, prove people wrong? And it’s stupid and it could’ve gotten us killed, and maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess if I hadn’t agreed with Sasha first.” He took a deep, shaky breath, a break from his rambling. Jon held back from interrupting. “And then- and then we were inside the tunnels, and I saw you all- all nervous and fidgeting and christ, I just felt so bad. And we heard that terrible  _ scream  _ and I knew I could never live with myself if you- if you died because of me, Jon. I’m sorry.”

Jon had less than no idea of how to respond to this. He sat, dumbfounded and mouth slightly open before snapping back to the moment. “I- Martin. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known, and it was Sasha’s idea anyway,” he said.

Martin shook his head. “No. We both know that nothing would’ve happened if I hadn’t agreed with Sasha. I just- it’s just- for  _ once  _ I try to be courageous and fearless and  _ brave  _ like Sasha, or all cool like Tim, or smart like you but then it gets us all in life-threatening danger and I just- god, Jon, I’m so sorry.”

Starting to shake and with his head buried in his hands, Jon could tell this was about more than their experience the day before. At a loss for anything else to do or say, he got up and sat next to Martin.

Tentatively, Jon placed a hand on his shoulder. Martin leaned into the touch. “Hey, hey,” he said, voice gentler than he’d ever used with Martin before. “It’s alright. It’s okay. We’re all fine now, nothing bad happened, it’s- it wasn’t your fault.”

Martin shook his head, dismissing him. “Isn’t it always, though?”

Jon extended his arm further and wrapped it around Martin’s shoulders, bringing him closer, feeling the soft fabric of his sweater and the light smell of shampoo in his hair. He rested his other hand in the space between their legs on the bed.

“No, no, it isn’t- hey, hey, it’s alright, Martin. We’re okay, right?”

He dug his face into Jon’s shoulder and his hand landed just next to Jon’s, brushing it ever so slightly. “She- she always said, everything that happened was my fault. I wasn’t trying enough, or smart enough, or just- just enough. I couldn’t do enough to save her, Jon,” he said.

Jon had no idea who Martin was talking about, but at least they’d found their way to whatever seemed to be the root of the problem. He put a hand on Martin’s back and rubbed hesitantly, questioning every movement he did and every word he said. “You- you  _ are  _ enough, Martin. You’re- um. You’re better than just enough, okay?”

Martin lifted his head and looked up at Jon with watery eyes. “What if something had happened to you, Jon?”

Jon said nothing. He didn’t know what he  _ could  _ have said.

Martin wiped his eyes and separated from Jon. He checked the clock. “We, uh, we need to- to get ready for the conference soon. I should probably go... shower,” he said, as if some switch had flipped in him.

They both stood from the bed, facing each other and unsure of how to proceed. “Yes, that would, um, that would be good.” Jon cleared his throat. “I’ll just- get dressed. While you’re in there. Yeah.”

Martin quickly left to go into the bathroom, but just before stepping inside, he stopped and looked back at Jon.

“I, um, thanks. Thank you- yeah.”

Jon met his eyes from across the room, mouth pressed together, staring as if analyzing him. “Well- I- of course. Of course, Martin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, everyone! this was a rather self-indulgent chapter, to say the least, but i hope y'all enjoyed it. and since it was only supposed to be a part of the next chapter, that means you get 21 in total instead of 20! unless something like this happens again and there end up being even more, which is entirely possible
> 
> that's all today, folks, yeehaw


	14. Oh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jon is back on his jon bullshit again everyone, and we love him for it

When Jon had been rushing down to the hotel bar, he’d worried that he would be late and leave Bridget waiting. Apparently, that wasn’t an issue.

Jon checked his watch again- 9:05. Had Bridget decided not to come? After all, he nearly didn’t. But five minutes wasn’t much to worry about. He flipped through his notebook again.

After that day of the conference, Martin had run off to some bookstore, and Tim and Sasha seemed to have their own plans. For his first afternoon in New York without being badgered by the others to do something, he planned to stay in and do some further research on the Church of the Shadow-Something. (They still didn’t know the full name- the picture Sasha had taken of the inscribed knife didn’t show up on her phone later). 

Jon sincerely hoped that Martin didn’t feel…  _ strange  _ about what happened that morning. Their experience the day before really  _ hadn’t _ been his fault. Yes, Jon pinned a lot on Martin’s ‘incompetence’ before, but he was beginning to realize that perhaps he’d been giving Martin more difficult work on purpose. He didn’t quite yet know why, but that was a question for another day. 

Anyway, as soon as he opened his laptop to research, Jon had fallen asleep. 

Around 8:52, Jon woke with the realization that he was supposed to meet Bridget in the bar less than ten minutes later. General panic ensued as he scrambled to make his hair presentable and smooth out some of the more noticeable creases in his clothing. He knew that he already permanently resembled a sleep-deprived disaster, but he could at least try to lessen the effect.

At 8:58, Jon grabbed his notebook and was out the door. He’d decided to bring along the notes he’d taken at Bridget’s seminar- they would be helpful to reference if their conversation became more in depth. Despite her…  _ brusk  _ manner of asking him to drinks, he was genuinely looking forward to discussing the archival process with someone who actually cared about it. 

Seven minutes after nine, Bridget sat down across from him at a small table. He jumped a little and closed the notebook. 

She had sharply winged eyeliner and half of her hair was tied up in a loose ponytail, the other half in gentle waves down her back. Her shirt looked nice, but not  _ so  _ nice that effort had obviously been put into the outfit. Still, her style had been elevated from the normal day-by-day.

Jon reflected on his slightly wrinkled green jumper and messy ponytail. He hadn’t thought to wear anything better for the occasion- after all, they were just having an academic conversation. 

She smiled, but not fully, eyelids slightly lowered to create a flirtatious effect.

_ Oh.  _ Tim, for once, had been right.  _ She meant this to be a date. Shit.  _

“Hey, Jon. Glad to see you actually came- I wasn’t sure that you would.”

Jon began thinking through how to streamline their conversation. Even if she’d had- had  _ romantic  _ intentions, possibly, he could keep their meeting platonic, right? Just steer away from that topic entirely. Yeah, that would work.

“Well, I thought your seminar was rather interesting, so I’m happy for the opportunity to discuss it and our relative institutions,” he said, fidgeting with the hem of his jumper. 

Bridget nodded. “Why thank you. But I already know about my own seminar, of course, so why don’t we come back to that later?”

They ordered drinks and sipped on them lightly, neither wanting to get much more than buzzed. 

“Oh- uh, okay, sure,” Jon said, cringing at his lack of eloquence. 

Bridget drummed her fingers on the table. “You’re from London, if I’m remembering that correctly?”

“Yes, well, raised in Bournemouth, but I- I live in London now.”  _ Weird piece of information, Jon, but alright. _

She took a sip of her drink. “A Londoner. I like the accent.” Jon had no idea of how to respond to that, so he fully decided not to. “How are you liking New York? The tea must be rather lacking,” she joked.

“It’s- it’s um, an interesting place to be in? Nice, I guess. And, and uh, I haven’t had much of the tea here… except the tea my assistant Martin makes. But his tea is always wonderful- I honestly don’t know why, because even if we’re using the same kettle and teabags his tastes better- so, uh, yeah?” Jon knew that even when he was only slightly tipsy, he started to ramble. Like every word he didn’t say when entirely sober just came tumbling out of him.

“...I see,” Bridget said, raising her eyebrows and taking another sip. Jon searched for what to say next. He opened up his notebook and showed her the page with notes from her seminar. 

“I, uh, I took some notes? From your- your presentation. I’d like to know more about some of your opinions on modern archiving, delve deeper into some of it… what was that detail about the unreliability of automated date entries?”

Bridget waved off his questions. “Jon, we’re not on conference hours. We don’t  _ have  _ to talk about our archives.”

He stiffened, a deer in the headlights. “Oh. Yeah. Right, right, yeah, okay,” he said. Was this the point of the conversation where he should ask  _ her  _ a question? “So… you said you’re from D.C., right? Have you uh, been to New York before?” That seemed like a reasonable, topical question.

Bridget nodded. “Yeah, I’m quite involved with the conference, so I make quite a few trips here every year. I’ve stopped doing much of the tourist type things, though. They become tiring rather quickly,” she said. “Seems like it’s your first time here- done anything fun? Maybe I can live vicariously through you.”

Jon relaxed a little. Alright, a clear question, no weird games or cues from Bridget this time. This could be fine. “Yes, actually. I’m here with three of my coworkers- they dragged me to Times Square, and the Disney store of all places. Well, that was Martin specifically. He has this love of Disney films- anyway. And, uh, yesterday, we went ice skating… where was it? Rockefeller? I’d never been ice skating before, turns out I’m rubbish, but Martin helped me- at least, until he fell on me and I twisted my ankle.” God, there it was again, the  _ rambling.  _ Jon resigned to try and keep his answers to a three-sentence maximum.

“Right, okay. Ice skating… cool. Is your ankle alright now?” she asked. Her face was rather flat, and Jon wondered whether or not she really cared about the answer, but he didn’t know what else to do except answer. Christ, strangers are difficult.

“Yes, actually, it- it uh, feels fine now. Good thing too, since getting to the conference takes a good amount of walking. Did you know all the subway stations near the convention hall have been closed for years?” Why could he just not  _ shut up _ ? It’s as if he was trying to skew the conversation in the weirdest ways possible. 

To Jon’s surprise, Bridget actually looked interested by what he’d said. “Oh? I… hadn’t noticed.”

Okay, so this was a good topic. He could do this. “Yes, actually, and it was Martin who figured it out first. I always thought of him as a more-  _ inefficient  _ worker, but I may have been wrong about that- I’m not sure. Anyways, I thought that it was rather strange,” he said. 

Bridget breathed out heavily- oh lord, was it a sigh? Jon sincerely hoped she had  _ not  _ sighed. “This… this  _ Martin,  _ did he- did he look any further into the subway situation there?”

Jon firmly decided not to mention their subway escapade. It was unlikely, but if Bridget really wanted to, she could alert the authorities about their trespassing. “Ah- um, no he hasn’t, we- we haven’t. I honestly think he wouldn’t want to,” Jon said, laughing nervously. “Martin isn’t- he’s not prone to irrational behavior like that.”

Bridget sighed- definitely a sigh this time. “Is he the one that came up to you that one time?” 

Jon filtered through his memories of the previous few days. Yes, Martin had walked up to him during their first conversation, but Tim had also done the same the day after. “Um- the one with the curly hair? He- he wore a light colored jumper that day, a soft yellow I think, and he’s got the- the freckles and the brown eyes- which have little green specks- and uh, what seems to be a near permanent blush,” he said. 

She nodded. “Why’d you come here tonight, Jon?”

Jon froze, blindsided by the strange question. “I- I- wait- what? To… discuss your uh, your seminar, I figured you wanted… feedback? Or- what?” he stuttered.

Bridget laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “I thought your obliviousness was cute at first, but honestly Jon, I ask you to the  _ hotel bar-  _ easy room access, by the way- after 9? Did you  _ really  _ come to discuss archiving, of all things?” She stared at Jon, who didn’t say anything in response and just stared back. 

“Well, it seems that’s entirely possible,” she said. “After all, it’s obvious that you’re enamored with this  _ Martin. _ ”

_ What? _

“I’m- sorry, I- excuse me-  _ what _ ?”

Bridget raised her eyebrows. “Jon, you wouldn’t stop talking about him. At all. Why did you even come in the first place?”

Martin had soft hair and soft jumpers and soft hands and a wonderful soft smile. He stuttered when he got too close to Jon, but always made sure he was okay. Martin had an infectious, melodic laugh. He made wonderful tea and somehow knew  _ exactly  _ how much sugar Jon liked in his. Sometimes, knitted blankets showed up folded on the chair of his office- he always knew they were from Martin. Martin, who kept stuffed animals on his desk and always bopped his head a little when listening to music through earbuds. Martin had a floral lunch bag and read poetry books on his break. Martin always smelled nice and had clean hair. Martin would get snacks for everyone from the vending machine without being asked to, and somehow knew Jon’s favorite chips without him ever saying. 

Martin was  _ soft  _ and he rounded out the sharpness of Jon. Jon with bony elbows and snapped words and graying hair that split at the end. 

Martin balanced him out perfectly, and perhaps that is why Jon loved him.

_...Oh.  _

_ Oh. _

“...I don’t know. I don’t know why I came.”

Bridget put her hands over her face, keeping them there for a few seconds before dropping them away. “Right, sure, okay. I… I think you should probably go. That would be best for us both.” 

Jon nodded and hurriedly grabbed his notebook, leaving a sufficient amount of money on the table. He thought he heard Bridget mutter ‘Why are the hot ones always gay?’ but he couldn’t be sure. He wanted to combat this with the fact that he very much was  _ not  _ gay, but he knew that wouldn’t make anything better. 

“I- I- I’m sorry? Sorry. I’m not good with these… things. Have a good night,” Jon said, face reddening quickly. He turned and began to leave, but she called after him.

“Jon?”

He looked back at her.

“Is Martin the only one who’s looked further into the subway closures?”

Confused, Jon stuttered out an answer. “Uh… yes, yeah, I’m pretty certain.” Bridget cut him off before he could ask why.

“I’ll see you around, Jon. Goodnight.”

With that, he left to go back to the hotel room, head swirling. There was only one thing on his mind:

Martin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, my buds! i wrote this chapter to procrastinate instead of working out and doing ballet class like i should have. however i have abandoned using ballet class music while i practice and instead, i just listen to Rusty Quill content as i do barre- you know, like a normal person.
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this chapter, and very much hope the meeting w Bridget lived up to y'all's expectations! yeehaw


	15. I'm Fine, Martin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry

Jon burst into the hotel room almost manically, movements uncontrolled as his head raced. But very quickly, he calmed.

Martin laid on his stomach on the bed, pouring over a book. He had a cookie halfway in his mouth. Jon’s panic was swiftly overcome by an unprecedented fondness. 

When he noticed Jon had come in, Martin scrambled to sit up and snap the book shut. “Oh, ah- Jon! Wasn’t expecting you back this… early? But, but- it’s fine, I just- uh, how did your…  _ meeting  _ go?” He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s not even 9:30.”

Jon sighed and tossed his notebook on his bed. He slid off his shoes and sat crossed legged on top. It was all he could do not to stare at Martin, mind still swirling with the fact that he had- had  _ feelings  _ for him. Ones he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Not very well, actually. I thought that we were just going to be discussing her seminar- I even brought my  _ notes-  _ but that, um, that wasn’t the case,” he said. Martin nodded in understanding.

He leaned off the bed and picked something out of a plastic bag on the floor, then walked over to Jon. The dim light from the nightstand lamp illuminated half of his face, eyes a deep shade of gold. Jon’s chest tightened- all of this time, how hadn’t he known?

“I… got you something that might, um, cheer you up?” Martin held a thick book out to Jon. “It was on display at the bookstore, and I know you like history- I think it’s uh, about a boy who gets forcefully trained by the Ottomans or something? I- I’m not sure.”

Jon gently took the book and flipped it around to look at each cover. He was glad for the momentary distraction from his- his  _ feelings.  _ “Yes, the ‘devshirme’ system, used to take many boys- often European- from their families and educate them for bureaucratic or military positions. Fascinating tactic, really, because they became incredibly loyal to the sultan since-” Jon stopped himself. “Sorry, I’m- I’m rambling.”

He looked up at Martin, whose blush had come back. His face betrayed a small smile. “No, it’s, um. It’s alright. I’m… glad you like it.”

“Yes. Thank you, Martin.”

Martin stood there for another moment, staring at Jon, before darting back to his bed. He reached into a small box and brandished a cookie. “Oh! I got these as well! There was this bakery next to the bookstore, and I met the owners- these adorable men, apparently they met because of their stores and have been married for over 30 years now- ah, anyway. Would- would you like it?” he asked.

Jon didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but there weren’t many sweets he liked. “What flavor is it?”

Martin held it out to him, smiling. “Peanut butter. I know that’s your favorite.”

_ He knew that _ ? 

Jon graciously accepted the cookie, and broke off a bit. It was wonderful. Martin sat back down on his bed.

“So…” he kicked his legs a little. “What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Jon thought back to his conversation with Bridget, and the revelation he’d had. “I would rather not talk about it, actually.”

Martin smiled nervously and shrugged. “Oh, yeah, of course! Ah- forget I asked, then,” he said. 

Daring to look at him, Jon went back through what he’d said to Bridget. How many times had he mentioned Martin without even realizing it? How often did his brain fall back to thinking of him? Jon didn’t  _ like  _ that his feelings had been so… out of control. The lack of knowledge. Strangely, it angered him.

Martin’s eyes widened a little and he looked at Jon, but not at his face. Jon shrunk back. “Martin… what is it?”

He opened his mouth to say something, stopped, and then tried again. “There’s uh, there’s… aspideronyourshoulder.” He hurried the last few words together, stiff.

Jon froze.  _ Logically,  _ he knew that it wasn’t dangerous but there was a spider on his shoulder and he hated spiders so much and he didn’t know what to do and he couldn’t even look. Martin grimaced. Everyone in the archives knew about his fear of spiders.

“No, no- Jon, it’s alright, I’ll get it,” he said, grabbing a napkin from inside the box of cookies and racing over. He plucked it off of Jon’s shoulder and folded the napkin so it would be trapped inside, but not crushed.

When the threat had still been there, Jon hadn’t noticed just how close Martin was, but afterward- Jon stared up at him and they locked eyes. 

He remembered that morning, how soft Martin’s hair felt and how the sunlight fell on his freckled face. His affirmation-  _ yes, Martin, you are enough.  _

It had been so clear. Every feeling laid out in front of him, all this time, if only he’d put the pieces together. And now, so close that he could hear Martin’s soft breath-

All Jon wanted to do was kiss him. And he  _ hated it. _

Since he was eight years old, Jon hated not knowing. He needed the knowledge, he needed the control. If nothing else, he should have been able to control his own thoughts and feelings- but he hadn’t! For months, Jon hadn’t comprehended that warmth whenever he was near Martin. And so he’d compensated with sharp words and ignorance. What could he trust if not himself? His own heart had betrayed him, and he’d lost the knowledge, lost all the control. He’d fucking  _ lost  _ the only thing he could trust. So now Martin stood beside him, clenching a spider inside a napkin, as Jon sat defenseless and scared. And still, Jon just wanted to kiss him.

On top of it all, Martin would never reciprocate. Jon had been an ass to him for months, covering up what was so deep inside. Along with knowledge and that precious control, Jon lost his chance. All those awkward conversations, and for what? Heartbreak? He couldn’t just ignore it anymore like he did with everything else. 

The knowledge.

The control. 

“I can take care of  _ myself, _ Martin,” Jon snapped. He didn’t hold back like he did the whole week. Martin took a step back.

“I- I was just trying to help, Jon, that’s all.”

Jon seethed, mostly at his own self, but that didn't matter. “I don’t  _ care.  _ I don’t need help, I don’t- I don’t need your tea, or your blankets, or any of your help! I’m  _ fine,  _ Martin!” There it was- I’m  _ fine.  _ Like always.

Martin frowned. “Oh. I… see.”

“Do you?  _ Do  _ you? Because- because it never seems like it. Why do you still try? Is it some- some strange pride thing? Am I your project, a broken little thing that needs to be fixed and cared for? I’m a grown man, I don’t need your charity and your cookies.” Jon didn’t mean a single word coming out of his mouth, but he let them out anyway. The walls needed rebuilding. 

Martin swallowed. “Jon… why are you saying this?”

Jon stood from the bed. The cookie dropped on the floor and broke. “Because it needs to be said. I don’t need your- your  _ generosity.  _ I don’t fucking need you. You don’t need to- to try and  _ save  _ me!” he said, spitting the words out like a curse, falling back into the same old routine. The same Jon as always.

Martin took another step back and held the napkin closer. “I’m… going to put this out on the balcony.” He quickly went outside and opened the napkin, letting the spider out on the railing. When he came back in, he dropped the paper into the rubbish bin. Then he grabbed his room key and phone. 

Martin sent a hurt but scathing glance at Jon. Without another word, he left. 

Jon felt his heart sink. He slid down the bed and onto the floor, head in his hands. Why had he said all of that? Why did he always seem to  _ do  _ this?

He was so fucking useless. The one good friendship he had to cling onto- he’d just ruined. Forever. Just to build those damn walls back up, slot back into the routine of being Jonathan Sims. 

As soon as the door clicked shut, Jon regretted it. Every single word. He hadn’t- hadn’t  _ meant  _ any of it, but Martin had no way of knowing that, and as the first tear slid down his face, Jon brought his knees to his chest. 

Martin was so wonderful. So kind and thoughtful, so  _ warm,  _ and so goddamn cute. He knew everything down to Jon’s favorite cookie flavor. And Jon messed it up, like he always did. He always managed to explode in the end, like he couldn’t let himself just have one good thing. The walls had been worn too far down, and they needed rebuilding. 

Jon sat curled on the floor for a very long time. When an hour passed after Martin’s leaving, he contemplated texting him. But maybe that would just make things worse. Jon certainly wouldn’t want to be around himself right then. 

Two hours after Martin left, he began to become very sore. He stretched out his limbs and slowly clambered onto the bed, laying on his side. It was fifteen minutes to midnight. He stared across the space between the beds, where the box of cookies sat open and alone on Martin’s. 

Jon looked at the title of the book Martin had been reading. It was poetry. Keats. 

He pulled out his phone and typed  _ I’m sorry.  _ Then he deleted it.  _ Where are you?  _ No, that was no good either.  _ Are you okay?  _ Well, obviously not. He nearly typed  _ Come back.  _ Jon ended up not sending the text at all.

Three hours since the exit, one in the morning. Jon had been pacing around the room- no way in hell was he sleeping tonight. He began to think of where Martin had gone- maybe back to the bookshop? No, they probably weren’t open. He could have gone to Sasha or Tim’s room. Oh god- Tim and Sasha. They would hear about this. Jon realized he no longer had any friends. 

Half an hour later, Jon tried texting again.  _ I love you,  _ he typed out, not with the intention of sending it. He deleted it, and settled on  _ We should talk.  _

Jon waited two minutes for a response before grabbing his jacket and barging out of the hotel room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry like really i DO apologize. i'm very sorry. i understand if you are mad at me i am also mad at me. sorry
> 
> thanks for reading, yeehaw (sorry)


	16. Decent Use of an Oxford Education

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for violence and minor blood mentions

Leaving the hotel room, Jon had been  _ very  _ determined. He was going to find Martin, apologize for once, and… well, he didn’t know what else. But that wasn’t the current problem. He actually had to  _ locate  _ Martin before the other issues became prominent.

This felt much more difficult as he stood in the lobby, wondering where to go next. 

After one in the morning, the downstairs of the hotel was significantly slower, but not without people. He looked through the entrance to the bar, where a few patrons sat scattered around. There was only one couple, the rest sitting alone.

That was as good a place to start as any, Jon guessed. He walked in and took a quick glance around, confirming that Martin wasn’t there. 

He went up to the bartender, who had very obvious dark circles and shaky hands on the glass they were drying. They didn’t seem to notice Jon at all, and so he quietly cleared his throat to get their attention.

“Ah, sorry- can I help you?” They asked. Jon rubbed the hem of his jumper between his finger and thumb. 

“I was, uh, I was just wondering- did you see a man, sometime near ten around here who had- who had a purple turtleneck and curly hair? Probably in a very bad mood?” he asked.

The bartender bit their lip and looked up a little, obviously racking their brain for the memory. “Oh! Usually, I wouldn’t remember- a lot of people come through here, you know- but there was someone like that, I remember because there was a young woman as well who went to him. It almost looked like she was  _ taking  _ him, but not  _ really,  _ so I didn’t find it too alarming at the time.” They shrugged and put the glass away. “Maybe that’s who you’re looking for.”

Jon nodded and ran a hand through his mess of hair. He thought for a moment, pondering who this person could have been- maybe Sasha- and then it hit him. 

Oh god. 

And it all fell into place.

“Thank you, I- I think it is,” Jon said frantically, looking to where he’d sat with Bridget earlier. The bartender wished him good luck or something like that, but Jon was already rushing out.

He threw open a door and went out into the cold New York night, met immediately with the sounds of the city. Right, okay. This was okay. It would be okay. He could get Martin- he just really, really hoped he was right. 

Jon ran through the streets, nearly bumping into many people who looked at him strangely, but Jon felt no inclination to care. He even ran through a green light, a car honking at him in annoyance. The sound barely registered. 

Just a few more blocks. Christ, he hadn’t run this much in a very long time- Jon hadn’t been one for sports growing up. His feet pounded hard on the sidewalk as he turned right, left, right again, wait, is this the right way?- no, no it is, panting as he grew ever closer. 

He finally stopped at the weathered yellow caution tape. Somehow, it had become even more sinister in the night. There would be no daylight to guide him to safety.

Jon almost hesitated. But he didn’t- there were no other options.  _ Martin  _ could be down there (and this would be very bad if he wasn’t). If Martin was in danger, nothing else could be considered. Jon ducked under the tape and onto the stairs. 

Again, he felt that disconcerting enveloping of darkness, far different than the night above him. As he carefully neared the bottom of the stairs, voices in the distance came into earshot. Briefly he contemplated turning on his phone’s flashlight, but decided against it. At least for now, hopefully whoever was down here wouldn’t hear him. 

Jon shuffled in the direction he thought the noise came from. In the dark, there were no clues for if objects blocked his path, so he slid his feet on the tile ground to hopefully feel any obstructions before walking into them. It also kept his footsteps quiet. 

That was, until he stepped on something. He crouched down and felt under his foot, and had to hold in a cry of pain as the edge of his finger was slit. The knife Sasha had found before. Jon picked it up and held it close, glad to have something to protect himself with. 

Frustrated, he set his flashlight to dim and covered some of it with his hand. As the voices- or maybe one voice?- became louder, Jon  _ had  _ to see, but he at least tried to be discreet with it.

His foot hit one of the lights Martin had found the day before. As he shined the flashlight on it, he realized- this was one of the lights placed in the convention hall. One of the large multitude, that may have flickered throughout the conference days but he’d strangely taken little notice to. 

The voice could be heard clearly now. It was Bridget, Jon felt certain of it. Panic rose in his chest and he fought to shove it down. 

“...all of you,” she said, ending a sentence Jon hadn’t heard the first half of. “You’re all  _ disgusting _ , doing the work of the Eye whether or not you even know it. The true state of the world is darkness, is blindness, why do you fight so hard for knowledge? For observance?” Her footsteps echoed on the ground, loud and menacing in the otherwise quiet station.

“When I met your  _ archivist  _ Jon, I knew he was marked- strongly so. Still, I thought it would be fun to- to play around with him before we use you all. Ah, how glorious it will be! You will be bathed in that- that abhorrent light, rid you of all your impurities before we can enact a new age. Aren’t you glad to be part of something so wonderful?”

Bridget’s footsteps stopped, and then echoed out twice again. “What am I talking about?” she laughed, a cold noise that resounded off the tiled walls. “I’ll kill you long before the ritual begins.”

A muffled whimper came from someone else.  _ Martin.  _

With no idea of what else to do, certain that Martin’s death was near, Jon kicked over the light.

It clanged loudly, and must have been plugged into a wall somewhere close because when Jon’s foot collided with its side, a ray of white light shone out from the end. 

Well, that certainly hadn’t been what Jon meant to do, but it may as well be what happened. 

Bridget let out a small cry and turned to where Jon stood, frozen in fear. She cocked her head and smiled. “Well isn’t this a nice little surprise? Come to collect your  _ precious  _ assistant? I mean really, you just went on and on about him earlier tonight, but I can’t see why.” She turned and looked to the side. “He doesn’t seem all that special.”

The near blinding light clearly illuminated Martin’s situation. He’d been tied against a column, arms wrapped back around it at a strange angle. A piece of cloth had been stuffed in his mouth- Jon was surprised at that one. No one would hear a scream down here, and besides, Jon thought Bridget to be the type that’d enjoy the sounds from her victims.

Jon held the knife behind his back. 

Bridget took a step closer, confident in her own domain. Jon seethed with rage at her comment. “Then you’re wrong. He  _ is. _ ”

She snorted. “That’s fine, doesn’t matter in the end. We’re inherent enemies, Jon; the watcher and the darkness. They can’t coexist. But we’ll win,” she said. Jon had no idea what she was talking about, but with the sound of her plans from before, nothing good was coming to the conference. 

Bridget could have had a weapon. Jon wanted to start a fight on  _ her  _ turf, and knew there could be consequences. But he didn’t care. Martin’s eyes, filled with fear, had no hope except him.

And so Jon stepped forward and plunged the knife into Bridget’s shoulder. 

She staggered back and brought her hand to the wound, eyes wide. Still, it didn’t seem to be enough to knock her off her feet. Bridget lunged and grabbed Jon's hand on the knife, twisting it into a painful position, but not enough to cause a break. Jon dropped his phone and shoved her on the injured shoulder. She gasped from the force on her broken skin and let go of the knife, giving Jon a small window of opportunity. 

He thought back to any and all knowledge he had on human anatomy, took a deep breath, and stabbed her in the abdomen. 

This was enough for her to collapse on the ground, blood trickling out from both wounds, but Jon’s days at Oxford hadn’t been for nothing- those two areas were significant, but not immediately lethal places to be injured.

Jon rushed to Martin and cut the ties with the knife, letting him take out the gag himself. “ _ Jon,  _ how-” he stopped and looked behind Jon. 

“Mar-” he was cut off as Martin easily shoved him to the side, knocking him to the floor. Jon watched as Martin threw the staggering Bridget against another column- she somehow had stood again. He hesitated for a moment before delivering a swift but powerful punch to her jaw. She crumpled against the column, unconscious.

Jon climbed to his feet, grabbed his thankfully unbroken cell, and they ran, footsteps pounding on the tile as they neared the exit. The knife dripped in Jon’ hand. 

They burst from the stairwell onto the street, panting. Jon took his first deep breath since going down into the subway. 

“Jon, you-”

Before Martin could finish his sentence, in a fashion distinctly unlike Jon, he threw his arms around Martin and pulled him in.

Jon’s face pressed against his chest, and he wrapped around him so tightly that Jon’s arms began to ache. Martin froze for a moment, shocked, before reluctantly returning the embrace. He let a hand go to the back of Jon’s head and pull him in closer.

They stayed like that for a full minute, the sounds of life and the city washing over them. Jon dropped the knife and his hands grabbed at Martin’s jumper. His brain still whirred on high alert and his muscles were still bunched with adrenaline, but that was alright.  _ Martin  _ was alright. 

Hesitantly, Jon pulled away. He picked up the knife, bloody on the sidewalk. Their eyes locked, but Jon looked away quickly. “We should go back to our room.” 

Martin nodded.

\- - - - - - - - - -

They’d walked in silence back to the hotel, not keen to talk while processing. It didn’t help that after the adrenaline wore off, Jon remembered their last conversation. He’d nearly become lightheaded from the memory. 

Jon walked in, set the knife on the bathroom sink, and sat on his bed. Martin did the same, and they returned to their familiar positions facing each other across the gap. 

He didn’t know what to say first. Thankfully, Martin took that burden. “I- Jon… thank you. For coming. For… saving me.”

Jon shook his head and stared at the broken cookie on the ground. “You did too. And I… I’m sorry. For before.” He raised his eyes to meet Martin’s. “I don’t believe a single word I said, and I know it isn’t an  _ excuse _ , I can’t be excused for that, but I-” he let out a shaky breath. “Well, there are things that are very difficult for me to come to terms with, and I was angry. You- you didn’t deserve it. So I’m sorry.”

Martin nodded and traced circles on the bedspread, a small, humorless smile on his lips. “You know, Tim once joked that you don’t have feelings. He said you were born in a cardigan and reading glasses, and all your emotions were- were replaced by books.” He chuckled, small and a little sad. “I didn’t believe it one bit.” Martin looked up at Jon. “I still don’t. You always have a little bit of a smile when we joke around, even if you try not to show it. And you grumble and mutter under your breath when the recorder doesn’t work right. I see the way your eyes move faster when there are too many people around, and you fidget with your hair tie or clothes when you feel nervous or overwhelmed. But I’ve also seen you laugh at something on your phone. Or focus on a book that really interests you, and click pens as you read statements. You blush when people give you anything- except tea, that is- and when anyone praises your work. It would be ridiculous to think you don’t  _ feel  _ anything.”

“...How do you feel, Martin?”

He sighed. “Scared. Confused. But better, still. You came for me.”

Jon swallowed, and thought back through the night. If he’d been a little slower, the last thing he would have ever said to Martin was that he didn’t  _ need  _ him. And that terrified Jon. Every opportunity could be the last. 

“Martin, I- I- I think that I-”

Jon was cut off by a banging on the door and loud shouting. “Gays, open the  _ fuck  _ up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, my good folks, thanks for reading! i haven't really written much combat before, even as small as it was in this chapter, so that was kinda fun. 
> 
> also, you may be asking, ao3 user cherrysconesforsimon, why would Bridget have willingly met up with Jon if they're enemies and she dislikes him so much?  
> answer: Jon is hot and she was down to fuck before using him in a ritual. ultimate no strings attached, baby. 
> 
> yeehaw


	17. Varied Degrees of Panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for a shorter chapter than usual, I have my AP test today and I've had to write and record multiple songs for classes this week, so I had a little less time. CW for blood and Idiot Archivists and Assistants

Martin opened the door, and Tim and Sasha practically fell into the room, panting. Jon looked at them incredulously. He wanted to address Tim’s prior comment, but decided that this certainly didn’t seem to be the time. Besides, he was kind of right, at least on Jon’s end. 

Had he really been about to- to  _ confess  _ to Martin? Thank god for Sasha and Tim’s interruption, because he surely would have made a fool of himself. Jon very much regretted his earlier outburst, but some of those feelings had been valid. He’d been too unkind to Martin in the past. The chance had been lost, certainly.

“Guys-” Sasha flopped down on the bed, making Jon scoot over- “we’ve got a problem.”

Jon and Martin traded a look, both thinking about experiences that happened less than an hour ago. He had  _ stabbed  _ someone in the past hour. Twice. 

“Us too,” Martin said.

“It’s about the cult.”

All four of them spoke in unison (with varied degrees of panic), and then stared around at each other. “...You first?” Martin said, shrugging a little. 

Tim sat down next to Sasha, and Jon felt  _ very  _ uncomfortable with all three of them on one side of the bed. He thought about sitting next to Martin, and his mind drifted back to that hug. It had been the first time he’d truly  _ hugged  _ someone in far too long, and with that person having been Martin, he couldn’t seem to get the moment off his mind.

But there were more pressing matters at hand. 

“Well,” Sasha glanced at Tim. “We were-  _ out.  _ And as we were walking back to the hotel, we passed by the conference hall, and there were- a bunch of lights flashing inside? We saw it through the windows, but no one else on the street seemed to even notice, not that there were many people. Most seemed drunk or high off their asses anyway.”

Tim nodded along to her explanation. “Well, at first we thought it could be just testing out the lights for tomorrow or something, but that was still weird because one, it is ass o’clock in the morning, and two, they were just- they were just  _ weird,  _ you know?” He glanced at the clock on the nightstand, which blinked 3:02. 

Jon could tell there was some residual intoxication in them. Still, after his experience in the subway, he was in no mind to doubt their story.

“So, because we are who we are, we decided to take a peek inside. I mean, if people were in there, it was probably unlocked, right? Well it actually wasn’t, but I read a shit ton of Nancy Drew books as a kid and learned to pick locks with a hair pin, anyway- we got in,” she said. Sasha had the audacity to pause for dramatic effect, as if this were some fun fireside ghost story. Jon quickly grew impatient. 

“ _ And _ ?” He prompted. Tim jumped in to continue their tale.

“I’m not quite sure how to explain it, but there were a bunch of these- these shadowy forms in the corners, and the chairs had been taken out of the main room, I think there was some weird  _ pit  _ thing or dark illusion or something and I nearly stepped in a big puddle- somehow I found that especially strange at the time. A weird, dark puddle inside. Maybe a dozen people watched in dark robes. These near  _ blinding  _ white rays of light were being sent from what must have been a hundred lights placed around the edges of the room. We ran before they saw us,” Tim explained. Jon nodded, connecting pieces of this to the subway. 

Sasha leaned in, as if conspiring secretly. “I think they’re planning to  _ do  _ something to the conference tomorrow.”

Jon sighed, exasperated by the whole situation they’d landed themselves in. “Yes, we’re aware. Martin was very recently kidnapped by them.”

“I’m sorry,  _ what _ ?” Tim asked. The both of them looked between Jon and Martin with shocked expressions.

“Yep!” Martin lifted up his hands, showing red marks still left on his wrists from the ties. 

Sasha looked down and put a hand over her mouth. Then she sat back up straight again. “And you’re  _ not  _ shitting us.”

Martin frowned at her. “Yes, Sasha, you’ve figured me out. I cut off my own circulation in my wrists just to trick you into thinking I was kidnapped in the unlikely chance you came banging on our door at three in the morning. No, I was  _ fucking kidnapped and tied against a column in a dark subway station and nearly murdered. _ ”

Sasha nodded, and pursed her lips together. “Right, sorry, dumb question.”

“I  _ would’ve _ been murdered if not for Jon’s help.” Martin looked at him, with a small, grateful smile. “He found me somehow- used the knife to fight off that Bridget woman, she’s who took me. He- he saved me.” Something passed between the two of them, something that made Jon tear his gaze away after a moment.

Sasha turned to look at Jon. “Did you use the knife from the subway, the one with the inscription? Do you still have it?”

He nodded, but Tim interrupted before he could explain further. “Wait, wait, boss- did you fucking  _ stab  _ someone? That’s… metal.” He slapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh my god did you  _ kill  _ her? I always knew, deep down, you were the ‘be gay, do crime’ type,” he said. 

Jon stammered for an answer. “Well, I- I- I tried to injure her in places that wouldn’t immediately kill her, although if she didn’t receive help soon enough she’d bleed out- but for now, I’m operating under the assumption that no, I did not kill her.”

Tim pouted. “That makes it decidedly less metal, but I understand.”

“Sorry, are we just going to brush over this  _ knife _ ?” Sasha questioned. “You still have it?”

Martin nodded. “Yes, it’s- it’s on the bathroom counter, right?” He looked over at Jon for confirmation.

Sasha already stood, about to go to the bathroom to see the thing for herself, but stopped. “Wait, hold on- you put a creepy magic knife just… out on the bathroom sink?”

The others had gotten up now as well. “...Yes?” Martin said.

“There is no evidence that this cult is anything  _ supernatural _ ,” Jon scoffed. “Could very well be a… normal New York darkness cult.”

Sasha had nearly disappeared inside the bathroom, but leaned her head out into the short hallway and looked at Jon in disbelief. “Okay,  _ now  _ you’re shitting me. Everyone, let’s look at the creepy magic knife. Maybe it’ll help,” she said. 

A minute later, the four of them were crowded around the small counter, staring at the large knife next to the sink. It still had an underlying layer of old, spotted blood, but now had the dark red of fresh blood on top. Only the words  _ Church of  _ could be seen now. 

Tim grimaced. “Jon… do you maybe want to… wash it off?”

Jon sighed, but he’d already done worse with the knife that night. Or morning. Damn, he was tired. 

He picked up the knife and ran it under the tap, rotating it under a thick stream of water. The fresh blood-  _ Bridget’s  _ blood- ran off easily, but the older coating only caused water of a light copper color to stream from the blade. Not all of it would come off without a more forceful scrub, and Jon was not keen on doing that. Besides, it seemed clear enough to see the inscription in the bright lighting of the bathroom.

Jon cringed as he dried the knife on a white towel, a faint outline of brown left on the fabric. He wondered whose blood had been on it first. 

He read off the engraved words. “ _ Church of the Shadow Aligned. _ ”

The name floated in the air between them for multiple seconds of silence as everyone processed them. Then Tim made a disgruntled noise. “Kind of anticlimactic, isn’t that?”

Sasha sent him an exasperated glance. “What did you think it would be, Church of the Shadow Murder Cult?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know,  _ I’m  _ not a cult leader. Would you-”

Martin cut Tim off before his antics would get out of hand. Apparently, after three A.M, their group became rather…  _ chaotic.  _ Not that they were all that reasonable during the day. “We need to figure out a plan of action before nine o’clock, so that  _ hundreds _ of people don’t get hurt. Who wants tea?”

Jon found his face heating at the way Martin had taken control of the group- a side of himself that hadn’t had much chance to be shown. It was… well, it made Jon redden considerably.

Martin and Jon on one bed, Sasha and Tim on the other, they sipped heavily caffeinated tea and discussed. Many things were written down in Jon’s notebook and almost as many were scribbled out as well. 

Still, by four in the morning, they had a plan- a plan made by four delirious, sleep deprived morons, but a plan nonetheless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading everyone!! your comments and kudos (kudoses?) mean so much to me, and the fact that anyone at all reads this fic brightens up my days. sometimes i just want to write a full chapter of these four being morons and i think that's acceptable.
> 
> (also how bout that new ep today?? i won't spoil shit but Jonny Sims really do be giving us top tier content i love him)
> 
> yeehaw


	18. Good Luck- You're Going to Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am I updating this chapter at 2 in the morning? yes. yes i am. look i can't sleep just let me live my life, it's technically Saturday now so it's f i n e

The entire group of four had been rather surprised by the existence of a twenty-four hour hardware shop only a block over from their hotel. Well, if it’s remarkably easy to buy an ax in central London, it may as well be remarkably easy to find a hammer in New York. 

They each walked out of the store with a small flashlight, and two hammers to share between them (there were only two left in stock). Jon clutched the handle of the knife as well, white breath puffing out into the cold night air. The four of them felt largely more confident now that they carried a semblance of equipment. Tim had ended up without anything except a flashlight, the hammers having been given to Sasha and Martin, but the man already had a weapon- his “sense of flair and bravado.” (Tim’s own words).

Walking down a narrow sidewalk, the four split into the two expected pairs. Jon stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and fell into step beside Martin. 

“Martin, are you… are you sure you’re okay doing this?” Jon asked. He dared a glance up at Martin’s face, which showed a redness from the cold, visible even in the 4 A.M. darkness.

Martin let out a dry laugh, devoid of humor. “It’s barely been two hours since you came to get me- not quite enough time for the trauma to really set in.” Jon didn’t respond, and he let out a shaky breath. “I think I’ll be alright. Mentally, at least. Who- who knows about physically?” Martin joked, using that higher tone he had whenever nervous. Jon knew it well. 

“You don’t _have_ to do it with us, you know. You could- could wait outside,” Jon said quietly. 

Martin shook his head. “No, that’d be ridiculous. I’m coming with you.” Jon raised his eyebrows, about to say something else, but Martin cut him off. “And that’s final.”

“Well,” Tim looked back over his shoulder at the two of them, “good that you’ve made your mind up, because we’re here.”

They stopped at the all too familiar entrance to the subway, faded caution tape fluttering in the wind. Jon shuddered at the depth of the darkness before him. Third time facing the dreadful place and he still wasn’t used to the way it made him feel. 

“And you’re sure that no one else was down there?” Sasha asked. 

Martin’s eyebrows cinched together, and Jon could see the memories flashing behind his eyes, but he nodded. “I- I’m fairly certain, yeah. I don’t think anyone was with her- but there were certainly other people she mentioned in the- the _cult_ ,” he said. 

Sasha gave him a curt nod. “Right then. I’ll… go first.”

She stepped underneath the tape and onto the stairs, clicking on her flashlight. It sent a thin ray of light down into the darkness, but again, not managing to brighten any of the space around the weak beam. The only light that had seemed to do that was the large one Jon kicked over before. He wondered if it was still on down there. 

The other three hesitantly followed behind her, and they walked down the stairs again.

Jon looked over at Martin, whose face was still barely visible from the city lights above them. His eyes were wide and flicked around in every direction. With some trepidation, Jon lightly placed a comforting hand on his arm. Martin turned his head and gazed down at Jon, moving closer and giving a small nod. Slowly, Jon took his hand away and descended further down. 

His question had been answered- further off in the station, a beam of light illuminated the space between two columns. A shadowed form was propped against one of them, ropes tangled around the bottom of the other. Jon readied himself to see the aftermath of his own attack.

Sure, Bridget was a cultist follower of darkness, probably planned to kill a bunch of people, had kidnapped, threatened, and insulted Martin, and definitely tried to kill Jon as well, but he didn’t _want_ to kill her. He- he wasn’t a monster. 

As the four rays of light moved closer to where Bridget sat, Jon could more easily see her features and the pool of blood on the ground. Martin hung a little further back than the other three. Jon didn’t know about everything that happened between their argument and his rescue- and he decided to wait much longer to ask. 

Their footsteps became louder on the tile, and Bridget opened her eyes. She sighed and sagged further against the columns. She’d managed to take off her jacket and press it against her abdomen, blocking most of the blood flow, but still didn’t look very good.

“ _You_ again.” Bridget spoke in strained but exasperated words. “You just keep coming back. I thought I’d get a nice one night stand before we killed you, and then you _stabbed_ me. And now you’ve brought your little archivist posse,” she said, waving a dismissive hand at them. “What, come to finish the job with a few spectators?”

Jon looked over at Martin and hesitated to step away from him, but knew that Tim and Sasha would help. He walked over to her and crouched down, a few feet away. “No, actually.”

Bridget raised her eyebrows. “Then what the hell do you want?”

“No one will hear you down here. You’re alone, you’re wounded, and nobody is coming to help you,” Jon said, almost monotone- his confidence was only a facade, and his fingers clenched white around the knife. He desperately hoped that his shaking wasn’t visible. Even injured on the ground, Bridget emanated _threat._

“Yes, I’ve realized that. What’s your point, Jon?”

“Well, _we’re_ actually here to help you. But not without something in return,” he said. 

Bridget gestured around her, where a pool of blood dripped slowly from under her jacket. She was defenseless, unable to move from the floor, breaths shallow. “What could you _possibly_ want from me right now?”

Jon stood up, making sure to keep the knife in plain sight. “Information. We want to know a way into the convention hall. One where none of your- your people will notice us.”

She stared up at him, with an expression that was somehow defiant. Jon sighed. “Look, you either help us and we call the police for you, or we figure something else out and you die. Which will it be?”

“ _Fine._ But you’ve got to help me first.”

Sasha snorted and stepped out of the shadows where she’d been with Tim and Martin. “Oh, come on, we’ve got all the power here,” she snapped. “You’re in no position to be making demands. Tell us how to get inside your- your fucking cult headquarters.”

Bridget raised her eyebrows. “Ooh, I like the way you talk. Should’ve gone for _you_ instead of this shit,” she said, gesturing over to Jon, who lifted the knife in warning. “But sure, I’ll tell you.”

She pointed off to the side, where the edge of the platform was just barely visible from the kicked over light. “Down that way, go to the right. If you walk for a bit, there’ll be graffiti of a green eye on the wall. A ladder will be next to it. If you go up that ladder, there should be a cover you can lift and slide off. It’ll bring you to a back room of the convention hall, up on the second floor. No one should be there right now.”

Jon tried to burn the directions into his brain, not that they were particularly involved. Walk to the right, green eye on the wall, go up the ladder, second floor of the convention hall.

He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed 999- no, that wasn’t right, 911 in America. He handed it over to her. “Tell them you’re here. Do _not_ mention us.”

Sasha spoke again. “You know Jon and Martin’s name, but you don’t know _mine,_ and they might have reservations about killing you, but I will not hesitate to hunt you down and stab you in your fucking hospital bed,” she said. 

Bridget gave her a sly smile. “You sure we can’t go out to dinner sometime after this is all over?”

Tim stepped in and grabbed Sasha’s arm, defensive. “Don’t get anywhere near her- or any of us, ever again.”

She sighed and prepared to hit the _Call_ button. “Well, I tried. Good luck- you’re going to die, but I’ll enjoy hearing about it later,” she said. 

Collectively they did not want to dignify her with a response. They listened to her call- Jon thought it was vague enough. Bridget told the police her injuries and that she’d run down here after being mugged. She shut off the phone and handed it back to Jon.

“Well, this has been great, but fuck all of you,” Bridget said. 

“Right back at you.” It was the first time Martin had spoken since going back down in the subway station. His voice shook, but Jon was glad to hear he seemed somewhat okay. 

The police would be coming soon. They had to get to the tunnel, and quickly. Thankfully, the others seemed to have the same thought. Jon bent down and turned the light off. The station returned to darkness again, with only their flashlights reaching out into the distance. Jon turned his light to Bridget one last time, who gave him a sharp glare. Damn, she had some nerve for a twice stabbed woman on the floor.

He left without another word, very much hoping to never see her again. 

Carefully, they dropped from the platform onto the rails. Jon figured from the lack of electricity everywhere else in the station that the tracks would be somewhat safe, but he did _not_ want to find out the hard way. “Everyone, be careful of the third rail,” he whispered. 

They each turned their flashlights to a wall, walking slowly along the tracks. Their tired footsteps crunched heavily on the ground. Without an active problem, Jon began to feel tired again, the adrenaline from his conversation with Bridget worn off. 

No sign of a green eye yet. They kept walking.

“...Jon?” Martin whispered. Their backs collided against each other, and Jon turned to look at him.

“Yes?”

No sounds from police officers came from behind them, but then again, they _were_ moving through the tunnel swiftly. Even so, it would not be ideal for their voices to alert the cops that they were there, even if Bridget hadn’t told them. At least the darkness and the tunnel hid them well. 

“I just wanted to say that, well… the way you talked to Bridget. It was… um, it was _different_. You didn’t stutter or anything, and I just- it was impressive, that was all. I don’t think I could have done that.”

Jon shrugged before he realized that Martin would most certainly not be able to see that. They entirely focused their flashlights on sweeping the walls. 

“It was all… _fake,_ really. I thought back to these cop shows my grandmother would watch when I was a child. Stony interrogation. It must have worked,” he said. 

Martin began to say something else when Tim stopped walking, causing Jon to bump into him. “Here it is!”

Jon stepped back and looked to where Tim had trained his flashlight on the wall. 

There, in dripping green paint, was a simple image of an eye. Despite the lack of detail, Jon couldn’t shake the feeling that it stared straight at him. That it _wanted_ him, _connected_ to him. He tried not to focus on the thing. 

Next to it, the promised rungs of a ladder jutted out from the wall. Jon walked closer and aimed his flashlight above his head. The ladder extended far above him, far enough to lead to the second floor of a building. Also far enough to kill you if you fell down.

“Well… this is it, then,” Sasha said. They all stared at the ladder. 

Jon re-positioned his fingers around the handle of a knife. Somehow, he knew that he was supposed to go first. After all, he had the knife, and he’d already used it.

He turned to face the other three, standing side by side now. “I’ll go up first,” he said. “Keep a good distance behind me, and each other- if someone gets kicked, they could fall off.”

Martin stepped closer to him, not caring about the other two exchanging glances behind their backs. Of course, they were all going up the ladder, despite who went first, but they all knew that Jon’s volunteering to go first put him in the most dangerous position.

“Be careful, Jon. We’re right behind you, okay?”

Jon nodded. “Bridget said it’s a back room, and it should be empty. We’ll be fine.” 

Martin bit his lower lip, thinking about something. Then he gently put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, similar to what Jon had done earlier. Martin smiled. “I know. Don’t do anything stupid. I- _we_ need you.” He let the hand slip away.

With the touch, memories came flooding back to Jon. Had it only been earlier that night that he’d realized what he truly felt for Martin? The experience seemed so long ago, drinking under colored lights, _not_ fearing for his life. All in one night, he had managed to name his love for Martin, push him away, save him, become closer to him, and venture back into the danger. Martin’s hand had felt so warm on his shoulder. Calming in his racing mind. 

If for nothing else, he had to live until daylight just to see Martin’s face clearly again.

Jon turned off the flashlight and put it in his pocket. He tried to think of how to put away the knife as well, but couldn’t, and resigned himself to the fact that he’d have to carry it while climbing. 

He grabbed the rungs and began his ascent.

The others followed his instructions, waiting a bit to climb on after him. Jon didn’t want to look down to check, but he was fairly certain that Tim was the first under him. They went up silently. The lack of conversation made Jon focus on other sounds in the tunnel, like the squeaking of a rat somewhere and the faint sound of a train in the distance. At some point, the police had come to get Bridget, an echo of their voices travelling down the tunnel. They were too far away to be of any concern.

Eventually, Jon could barely sense the others below him, entirely surrounded by darkness in the narrow vertical passage. Only their breathing assured him that they continued to climb. 

His hands hurt from the rungs, his fingers cramped from holding both the knife and ladder so tightly. But he knew the ladder would come to an end. And then, well, there was no telling what would happen.

Jon’s head hit cool metal. He’d reached the top of the ladder. The others must have heard the sound of him bumping into the cover and stopped climbing. Achingly slow, he lifted the metal and pushed it away. A square of dim, slightly orange light washed over him. 

Jon moved his hands to grasp at the edges of the opening and pushed himself into the room. It looked empty except for a few stacks of chairs and a lamp in the corner. Staring around, he couldn’t believe that he’d entered the same building as the conference had been taking place in. 

He’d barely stood and looked to the doorway when a group of people in dark robes filed in. Jon froze, knowing that they’d immediately seen him- the room was far too tiny for any hope of them not noticing his entrance. 

“Couldn’t keep well enough away, could you?” One spoke with a gruff, deep voice, face covered by a hood. 

Jon dropped the knife. Judging from the lack of a _clang_ on the ground, it had gone down the ladder shaft like he’d hoped. He discreetly kicked the cover back over the opening. 

“Bridget thought you’d be coming back.”

Jon’s shoulders were seized, and then his vision went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, as always!! we are VERY close to 3,000 hits, which is just absolutely incredible. i didn't think that this fic would get nearly as many subscribers as it has, but you know, it's a welcome surprise! y'all's comments n stuff always make my day, truly. 
> 
> this chapter was weirdly a lot of fun to write? i drafted and edited in like 2 hours and then decided to post at two in the morning, so that should probably... let you know. also sorry for my multiple references in this fic to the ax line from season 2, it's my favorite line in the whole series (it's just so fucking funny to me) and so i quote it constantly
> 
> anyway yeehaw lmao


	19. Sacrifice By Sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for violence and blindness. i did not come to play. c'mon lesbians let's go let's go

For a moment, Jon felt certain that he was unconscious. Then he realized that to think about being unconscious meant he couldn’t possibly  _ be  _ unconscious. But then he remembered that there were more concerning matters at hand. 

One moment, he could see, and the next, the world went dark. Not the darkness of the subway station- a  _ flat  _ darkness, where he wasn’t looking at air without light, but nothing at all. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or closed, if he’d managed to stay on his feet or if he had collapsed to the floor. 

Quickly, his other senses muddled as well. He had no sight, but every sound came to him through water, and his body no longer felt like  _ his.  _ The sensations that interacted with his skin were far away, as if he were existing somewhere adjacent to himself. 

There was a floor beneath him. He knew that. A pressure on his sides and legs, and then the feeling of the floor left and he was once again floating senseless. 

A restriction on his wrists and ankles, his body bent, maybe. A white hot heat- or perhaps cold. Jon didn’t know. For a string of confused, senseless moments, he didn’t seem to know  _ anything.  _

No, no, that was wrong- he knew some things. He tried to sort through the dredges of his mind to list off the certainties. 

One thing he knew- he’d climbed a ladder. He’d pushed himself out of the passage, and then the cult people found him and took away his feeling. Well, physical feeling.  _ Mentally,  _ he was terrified out of his fucking mind, in the strangest way possible. 

The others had not been taken. He knew that too. The cover over the ladder had fallen firmly in place before the darkness, and he so desperately hoped that the others possessed the sensibility not to go after Jon, at least not in the same way. 

Jon could be sure of one last thing- he was glad he’d gone first. He would so,  _ so  _ rather be in this position than Martin. This is a sacrifice he had made unwillingly, but would’ve done without hesitation anyway. 

A conversation reached Jon’s ears, muddled and distant, but there. 

“...planned a ritual as well?”

A low voice, with an intimidating edge. Perhaps the same that had addressed Jon before. “Those British fucks were careless. Compromised. The Divine Host relied far too much on outside factors- our strength is found  _ within  _ our ranks. Our patron will not see us fail. We strengthen the Dark and weaken its enemy as well.”

A pause. Jon strained to hear. 

“Like  _ him.  _ Bridget promised us a sacrifice by sunrise, and my doubts were- unfounded. She understands the importance of a last soul this week before the ritual.”

Someone asked a question, quieter and with less force than the main speaker. Jon couldn’t pick up on their words, but he heard the answer. 

“It is not my place to reward one of ours. If our master  _ elevates  _ her, it is not my decision. Walter- remain here with Sims, make sure he stays-  _ incapacitated.  _ Come, everyone; we have preparations to make.”

The brief sound of footsteps, multiple sets, before the door of the room closed with a damning  _ thud.  _

Walter- the name was familiar. Jon thought back through the week of the conference, and then it hit him. A man named Walter had done each of the introduction speeches for the days. He’d looked so kindly, just a middle aged man who made some bad jokes and had archiving expertise. Clearly, Jon had been wrong about him. 

They’d been wrong about everything. 

Minutes passed without another sound or feeling reaching Jon, except for the distant patter of footsteps on the faded carpet of the room. But then another voice came to him in the depths. 

“You’re still conscious in there, aren’t you?”

Walter began to speak, and Jon couldn’t answer. His brain failed to discern if his throat could even be called  _ his  _ anymore. 

“Perhaps you can still see what is happening, with your- your  _ Eye  _ abilities. Do you Know what will happen to you tonight?” Walter paused, as if Jon could respond, but then chuckled. “No, you couldn’t begin to guess. Maybe I will make you Watch from inside yourself, unable to do a thing. Yes- I think I will do that.”

Jon didn’t have a single  _ clue  _ what Walter was referring to. His ‘eye’ abilities? But he couldn’t afford to dwell on that, because it seemed like this man planned to do something  _ bad  _ to Jon. 

The door opened again, and he heard a small cry- had it been his own? No, he knew it wasn’t.

And then suddenly, his vision returned, eyes greeted by the sight of Tim kneeing Walter in the groin. The man staggered back, colliding with a stack of chairs, and Tim jabbed two fingers at the base of his throat. He let out a strained noise, losing color, and crumpled. 

Tim turned back to Jon, smirking, knife held in the hand he hadn’t used to attack. “I took martial arts classes in middle school. Aren’t you glad?”

Even in this situation, Jon managed to roll his eyes. “I see you got my  _ gift  _ earlier. Flair and bravado not quite cutting it?”

Tim had already begun to cut through the ties that held Jon in place, arms around a chair. Rather predictable, in his opinion. Tim jokingly held the point out to Jon. “Bold words from a man whose life I am currently saving. Yeah, it almost slashed my fucking face open, but thanks.”

“Where are the others?” Jon asked. He freed his arms from the ties as Tim got to work on his restrained ankles. Walter began to stir, and Tim did his- his  _ thing  _ again.

“Hiding on the ground floor. They’re looking for a way to get in there so they can destroy the lights. The cult shits are circled around whatever that dark thing in the middle of the main hall is. I snuck back here to get you out- sorry it took so long,” he said. 

Jon almost laughed. “I think I understand. Anyone hurt?”

“Not physically, but Martin was messed up when they got you and you closed the cover. We went back down the ladder, but he wanted to go in after you. We had to actually hold him back- took a minute for us to get it in his head that we’d have a better chance of helping you this way.” Tim stood up, wiping dust from his hands on his trousers. Jon extended his leg, relief flooding through him at his ability to move and see. He stood as well. 

“What should we do about Walter over here?” Jon asked. 

Tim raised his eyebrows. “First name basis, huh? Should probably just tie him up.”

With two people, restraining Walter against the chairs proved to be quick work. None of his companions burst through the door either- also quite helpful. Jon and Tim gently pushed the door open, not wanting to make any noise. However, when they crawled behind the railing of the balcony overlooking the main hall, it seemed that a small sound from them wouldn’t make much of a difference. 

About a dozen incredibly focused people, each in dark robes and hoods, stood about two feet back from a large pit of darkness- or so Jon thought. At a second glance, the surface of the pit rippled, and he realized it wasn’t a pit at all, but a pool of blackened water. The surface shone from beams of white light, extending out from the edges of the room. 

The stage lights, placed methodically against the walls. Jon estimated about twenty of them lined up around the room. He glanced at Tim, crouched next to him behind the railing. “Water?” Tim mouthed to him. Jon nodded, just as confused. 

As he surveyed the room, Jon caught a glimpse of curly hair he knew well. Then Sasha’s face peeked out from a side room next to the main hall. Martin as well-  _ Martin.  _ He looked exhausted, eyes alit with worry, but unharmed. They both still held on to hammers.

A man spoke. “Stratton, retrieve the sacrifice.” The same gruff voice as before. Jon assumed this one to be their leader, commanding the rest with an authoritative tone. Another person next to him nodded and walked over to the stairs, steps that would lead to the long balcony where Jon and Tim were hiding. 

They scurried behind a soundboard just as the person named Stratton reached the top of the stairs. He walked into the small hallway where that room had been, and Jon cringed as the door opened. There was an audible gasp, and Stratton ran from the room and down the staircase. They stopped at the bottom, the others turning to face them. 

“The sacrifice has escaped! Walter’s unconscious, and- and- and tied up,” they said, breaths heavy. 

Murmurs arose from the group, but the leader put a hand out, calm and collected. “He cannot have gone far.” Jon watched as he divided them into groups- two to search the subway, three to search the building, one to go assist Walter, and the last two to remain with him. 

The three still in the hall bunched together, heads dipped as they conversed in low voices. They weren’t looking around them.

Thankfully, the three assigned to search the building didn’t immediately go to the room where Martin and Sasha were hiding. Jon let himself be relieved at this, but knew it couldn’t last long- this was the time to spring into action, after they’d split up.

Tim apparently had the same thought. Without making any sudden movements, he stood, looking out over the railing. He locked eyes with Sasha and waved an arm. It was an action done with  _ weight,  _ a certain gravity that showed- it’s now or never. 

Sasha lifted her hammer and nodded. She glanced at Martin, and then back at Tim- they understood. Jon joined Tim looking out over the railing, and met Martin’s eyes. The room he hid in was dark and shadowy, obscuring half of Martin’s features. He felt the same determination as before- survive until sunrise. 

Survive to see Martin’s face again, golden curls and eyes in the sunlight, blushing cheeks. Survive until the end of this fucking  _ nightmare.  _

Like four parts of one entity, they ran into the main hall, Sasha and Martin immediately splitting and going to the lights at the edges of the room. Jon and Tim ran down the steps just as the three cultists turned to look at the commotion. 

The leader lunged at Jon. He tackled Jon, pinning down his arms. Jon flailed his legs wildly, and then recalled Tim’s tactic from before. He brought his knee up and slammed it between the man’s legs, causing him to release Jon’s arms. He scrambled back and whipped the flashlight out of his pocket.

The brief moment allowed Jon to check the situation around him. Tim fought off another one with the knife, them wrestling for the weapon. The third cultist had fled to stop Sasha. Martin was on the other side of the room, filling the hall with the sound of breaking glass. 

Jon staggered to his feet just as a fist collided with his cheek. The pain coursed through his body, but thankfully, his opponent didn’t seem to be all that well versed in hand to hand fighting- then again, neither was Jon. 

Jon swung the flashlight at the side of the man’s face, his hood having dropped off at the start of their fight. From across the room, Martin ran toward them.

“Keep going!” A strained shout from Sasha, who pinned her own opponent on the floor, but not for long. Martin looked between them and the lights, indecisive, but ran back and brandished his hammer again.

The cultist grabbed Jon’s shoulders, and they grappled for a moment. The man fell over backwards, Jon on top. His small build did him no favors, though, and soon the cultist had flipped them. They rolled closer to the pool of water.

An elbow about to smash into his face. Jon narrowly dodged it, twisting his head to the side at a painful angle. His arms were free- Jon punched the man’s nose, but had little power behind it. He pushed up from the floor, trying to throw the cultist off. The man realized their proximity to the water and grabbed at Jon’s ankles, attempting to pull him closer. 

Jon kicked at him wildly. Then he even threw the flashlight at his head. The man stumbled back, nearly into the brackish water, but regained his balance and planted a heavy foot on Jon’s chest.

Everything seemed to slow around Jon. He saw Tim, crumpling to the ground, limp fingers letting go of the knife. Sasha had been pinned against the wall. She struggled against her attacker, but with every effort she grew weaker. 

Jon’s arm nearly touched the water. Somehow, he knew that the water was not shallow. Falling into it meant death.

Or worse. 

Martin had stopped swinging his hammer. He paused with it raised over his shoulder, trembling, staring at Jon. 

_ Jon stood up from the bed. The cookie dropped on the floor and broke. “Because it needs to be said. I don’t need your- your generosity. I don’t fucking need you. You don’t need to- to try and save me.” _

Interesting, how things play out.

Jon’s chest was being crushed. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, his vision began to swim and he tried to flail and move but the oxygen refused to come to him.

Martin pulled back with the hammer and swung it at the man. He grabbed the cultist’s shoulders and shoved him to the side. He let out one last scream, before disappearing under the surface of the water. It rippled once and then stilled, as if nothing had happened. Then the edges of the pool receded, pulling closer to itself until it was  _ gone.  _

Jon could breathe again. Martin held out a hand and pulled him to his feet. He wanted to say something,  _ anything,  _ a thank you or more, but they didn’t have time. This wasn’t over yet. 

First, they ran to Tim, pulling the cultist away from him. Martin punched him squarely in the jaw, like he’d done to Bridget. Jon grabbed the knife as Tim’s eyes slowly opened. He put a hand to his head and sat up, groaning, but Jon and Martin left him there and went to Sasha. 

She still fought against her assailant, but Jon pulled one of the cultist’s arms off of her, Martin on the other side. The three of them threw the robed figure on the floor. Jon lifted the knife and buried it in their abdomen, leaving them bleeding, but (hopefully) not dying. 

No doubt that the others would return soon. The whole affair had taken place in a matter of minutes, but they made an incredible amount of noise. Still, no harm in making more. 

Martin had already destroyed about a third of the lights in the room. He and Sasha started to break more, swinging at them with their hammers. Jon and Tim simply kicked the lights in, and soon, the glass and bulb of every single one had been shattered. The room gradually fell into darkness, dimming with the sound of each break.

A shout came from another room. Then the pounding of footsteps. They dropped their hammers and fled, running as fast as they could to the exit of the convention hall. 

But they didn’t stop after leaving the building. The four of them ran down several blocks, panting in the darkness- but this was a natural darkness, tinged by the glow of the city. 

They passed the entrance to the subway station and didn’t look back. 

Ten minutes of running, and they slowed to a stop, panting against a wall. Tim pulled out his phone. His hands trembled as he dialed the police and gave them an anonymous tip about the convention hall. He put his phone away and let out a shaking breath.

They didn’t speak. They could barely  _ think. _

But Jon looked at each of them, and then let his gaze linger on Martin, who stared at the ground. They were okay.

Jon had survived, but more importantly, so had Martin. They’d done it. They’d  _ done  _ it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! can y'all believe we only have three more chapters left?? (that is, if i don't get sad and add another chapter just because i can't let go. but probably not). 
> 
> anyway this chapter was Interesting to write, because it's probably the most combat i've done, and it was all between people who don't have a Clue about fighting. however i do headcanon that Georgie went to self defense classes in college and tried out her moves on Jon but that's barely relevant
> 
> okay thank you for your time, friends. yeehaw


	20. Net Zero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted this right after midnight just to bring y'all that good Content as fast as possible. tma has consumed my brain even more than usual today and i think that's because i've been feeling even gayer for Melanie and Daisy and Georgie than usual. the Spook Girls be hittin different. anyway enjoy

A few early morning commuters passed by, earbuds in and jackets bundled tightly around themselves. One rode on a bicycle- he didn’t have time to send a glance toward the group of four strange people on the street corner. Then again, this was  _ New York,  _ and most of the passerbys had already seen far more interesting things that morning. 

Things stranger than four shaking, quiet people, with bruises and crumpled clothes. They looked like they hadn’t slept all night. And they definitely did not.

Tim and Sasha wordlessly pulled themselves into a tight embrace. As Sasha tucked her head into the crook of his neck, Jon and Martin waited awkwardly to the side. They looked at each other with short, nervous glances.

Jon’s thoughts drifted back to the hug after he’d rescued Martin from the subway. He couldn’t seem to get it out of his mind. Watching Tim and Sasha wrap their arms around each other, eyes closed tightly, it was brought to the forefront of his mind.

Jon took out his phone. A red battery showed on the screen- dead, of course. Tim and Sasha separated.

“What, uh… what time is it?” he asked. The first break in the silence after they left the convention hall. 

Tim checked his own phone. “Just a little after six.”

Jon looked to the sky, hoping to see the edge of the sun, but was disappointed. In late November, the sun wouldn’t rise until closer to seven. 

“Wow,” Martin said, his voice still shaking. “Only six… part of me feels like it should be earlier, and the other part feels like it should be much, much later.”

“Holy shit, I am  _ exhausted, _ ” Tim said, and then he dissolved into a sudden fit of laughter.

For some reason, a laugh also rose out of Jon, and soon all four of them were crying and laughing simultaneously, emotions spilling out uncontrollably. This time, they  _ did  _ get a few brief glances from strangers passing by. 

Sasha wiped a tear from her eye. “Yeah, me too. I… really don’t want to process anything that just happened, so I think I’ll just go back to the hotel? And sleep for about seven years.”

“Same,” Tim said. “Damn, and we have a flight tomorrow. I need to collapse, like, right now.”

They looked at Jon and Martin, who stood a few feet away from each other, the air between them thick. “I don’t think I can go back to the hotel yet. Or sleep. I… I still need some more fresh air,” Martin said, running an aching hand through his curls. 

Martin locked eyes with Jon, who nodded after a moment of hesitation. “I as well.” He turned back to Tim and Sasha. “You two should get some sleep.”

She pursed her lips and passed a knowing glance to Tim. “Alright. Okay. Um… we’ll meet later today? Much later- god, I need sleep. And then we’ll… discuss- things. Yeah?”

They agreed, and soon Jon and Martin were left alone on the street corner, watching the figures of their friends disappear into the morning darkness. Jon was so sick of the fucking darkness.

He turned back to Martin, fidgeting with the always-present hair tie. If the danger was gone, why was he still so nervous? They were safe now, it was okay. But a pit had seemed to open in his stomach, gnawing at him from the inside. And he suddenly remembered exactly why.

“So, uh- if not the hotel, where should we go?” Jon asked. He avoided direct eye contact with Martin.

“I think Central Park is nearby? It shouldn’t be busy, right now, might be nice after…  _ that _ .”

Jon nodded, beginning to shiver as any last residue of adrenaline wore off. “Yeah, I- that sounds nice.”

Martin shoved his hands in his pockets and gave Jon a small smile. While they’d been functioning on purely fear and determination, there’d been no room for nervousness. Jon didn’t have the space in his emotions to steal quick glances at the other, or think for more than a few seconds about his- his  _ feelings. _

Wordlessly, they made their way to Central Park, breathing in the tainted air. Jon didn’t miss the must of the subway station. The memory sent a chill down his back.

Jon was just so utterly  _ relieved  _ that they’d both come out of the situation in one piece. He felt no shame in walking a little closer to Martin than necessary, not just because Jon wanted so badly to be near him, but because he felt safe. The night had felt more like a week, and he hadn’t felt the relief of safety since leaving the hotel room to meet Bridget at the bar. 

Bridget. Would they have been able to stop the ritual if Jon hadn’t agreed to drinks? The chain of events made him slightly nauseous, and so he pushed the thoughts away.

They’d found Central Park. Martin had been correct- it wasn’t busy. He saw one person in the distance, walking briskly down a path and then out of sight. The park seemed to be waiting for something, still and quiet in the space before dawn. 

They crossed the street and stepped onto a path, wide and framed with trees. Most had already gone bare, but some still clung to orange and yellow leaves, trembling in the light November wind. 

Jon’s fingers brushed against Martin’s as they walked side by side. He instinctively shoved his hand back in the pocket of his jacket. 

He’d made the right decision, coming here instead of back to the hotel- the stillness, the quiet, it was his favorite place in New York so far. No bright lights or loud noises to flood his senses and overwhelm him. Only the faint sounds of cars going by reached them from the street, and even that was muffled by the trees. 

The silence didn’t last long- but it was Martin’s voice that reached Jon’s ears, and so he didn’t mind it. 

“Jon, do you think we… do you think we killed anyone?”

The question he’d been trying to avoid the entire night. Despite the cult very much trying to murder them, Jon hadn’t been keen on lethal defense. “No, I don’t think so. We were- we tried not to, I know that,” he said, watching a bird fly down and perch itself on a tree branch. It must’ve been getting ready to sing at dawn. 

“What about the man I pushed into the water?” Martin asked. He sounded distant, lost in thought. 

Jon looked over at him, the first time since entering the park. He’d been avoiding Martin’s eyes without even realizing. “We can’t be sure what happened to him. And- and he was killing me, Martin.” His voice softened. “You did what you had to. It’s okay.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Martin breathed in deeply and let it out before continuing. “I- I know that. I do. And it was… worth it,” he said, not turning his head, but letting his eyes drift down to Jon.

They continued wandering. Jon thought they’d been walking without purpose until he realized that they had been heading to the reservoir. Without even talking about it, they let their feet carry them to the wide path next to the water, stopping at the railing that marked the edge. 

Jon breathed in the cold air and looked out over the vast stretch of water. The darkness caused the surface to look black, impenetrable, but this was a  _ natural  _ darkness, and he let go of thoughts of the supernatural. This was okay. They were fine. 

A leaf from a low hanging branch touched the top of Martin’s head, and he yelped before stepping to the side, bumping into Jon. He laughed- there aren’t many advantages to being short, but this definitely counted.

Martin laughed as well and stepped away, much to Jon’s dismay. He placed his arms on the top of the railing. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

A breeze blew through the trees, rustling the remaining leaves. Jon smiled. “It is.”

He let the calm wash over him again, slowing the racing thoughts in his head, words climbing out that usually wouldn’t. “Martin, I… I never got the chance to really thank you. For- for saving me,” he said.

Martin didn’t say anything, just looked down, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. He didn’t respond, and so Jon took a deep breath and continued. 

“You know, earlier tonight- a  _ lot  _ earlier tonight- I told you that I… didn’t need you. That you don’t have to save me.” He laughed, humorless and small. “Obviously, that isn’t the case. You saved my life tonight. So- thank you.”

Martin smiled. “You know, you saved  _ me  _ as well, so I think it evens out. Net zero, you know?”

“Net zero,” Jon chuckled. “Sure.”

There was another gust of wind. Jon watched it move the curls in Martin’s hair and felt his own blow to the side, probably a mess after the night they’d just had. He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. The sun hadn’t come up yet, and neither had the temperature. 

Jon jumped a little as he felt something soft touch his neck. He looked down, a colorful scarf being wrapped under his collar. Martin circled the knitted wool around his neck, fingers brushing against Jon’s chin, every moment of contact consuming Jon’s mind. He felt that feeling in his stomach intensify. 

_ Shit. _

“That any better?” Martin asked, stepping away. Jon missed his closeness. 

“I… yes. Thank you.” He felt the soft wool. “It  _ is  _ quite a nice scarf.”

Even in the darkness, Martin’s blush was evident on his cheeks. Lights from buildings nearby illuminated his face, along with the beginning of dawn in the sky, the darkness less intense but sun not yet on the horizon. “You can, um, you can keep it if you like? I have a few more at home, that’s just- that’s just the one I brought on the trip. Or- or I could make you one!” he stuttered out, and scratched behind his neck after, looking away from Jon.

He thought about turning the offer down, but truthfully, he couldn’t resist the thought of having something made by Martin. “That would be lovely.”

Martin opened his mouth, about to say something, then closed it. After another moment’s hesitation, he spoke. “I- I know it’s kind of ridiculous to still be thinking about this after everything that’s happened tonight, but quite frankly, you know, it’s- it’s been on my mind? And I haven’t had a chance… to ask?”

“What is it?”

“It’s just, before Tim and Sasha came to our door, you were going to tell me something,” said Martin. “And it- I don’t know, it just seemed… important.”

Jon froze. He remembered the moment, exactly, when words were tumbling out of his mouth without enough thought put into them. He could lie. That would be easy, far easier than the truth. He would be able to keep holding on to this friendship with Martin, who was so soft and kind and bright. With just a couple words, he could ruin it all. And so, obviously, he should lie. That’s the sensible thing to do. 

“I was going to tell you that I think I love you.”

Silence. 

Oh god, he’d fucked up.

May as well leave now. 

Martin looked at him, bewildered. “Wait, I- love me? Like, as in, ‘oh, Martin! I love that guy!’, or ‘Martin does great work, I love having him on the team’, or you just- you just really care about me, or do you mean that you…  _ love  _ me?”

A sinking feeling filled Jon’s stomach, threatening to pull him down into the pavement and the reservoir and maybe he’d just collapse on the ground and never stand up.

“Martin. I think that I  _ love  _ you.”

“ _ Oh. _ ”

Martin didn’t sound angry, or disgusted, or any of the things that Jon had been so afraid of. He just seemed… scared. And surprised. He faced the reservoir, staring out over the water, and Jon just wished that Martin would face him again so he could puzzle out whatever the expression on Martin’s face was. 

“I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you in a position like that and I entirely understand you not feeling the same, I know I’m your boss and you are under absolutely  _ no  _ obligation to-”

Martin cut him off. “Jon?”

“...Yes?”

Martin turned and looked him straight in the eye. Face impossible to read, not that Jon was much good at that anyway. He seemed to scan Jon’s features, the edges of his lips in what may have been a small smile. “Would it be alright if I kissed you?”

Jon’s hand reached to lightly touch the side of Martin’s face, warm and soft. His thumb brushed over the many freckles that dotted the top of his cheek. 

And then he was on his toes, lips brushing on Martin’s, careful and unsure. Like the rest of him, Martin’s lips were  _ soft _ , safe despite the uncertainty that at first threatened to overwhelm Jon. He closed his eyes. Martin was kissing him. And that made everything okay. 

Martin pulled away, and for a moment, Jon ached to have him back, to feel  _ right  _ again. But then Martin looked to the sky and smiled. 

“Jon, look- the sun is rising.”

Neither watched long as the sun rose over the horizon, filling the sky with pink and orange. Jon felt far more interested in how the light played on Martin’s hair, golden in the morning sun, glowing like a halo. They didn’t bother to watch the sunrise, putting an end to the darkness, instead closing their eyes and kissing again without the fear. 

And as true, natural light found the world around them, Jon found his happiness in Martin’s tight embrace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the scarf makes a return!!! also some important information regarding this fic thus far:
> 
> the word ‘tea’ has been used: 57 times  
> the word ‘fuck’ has been used: 37 times  
> the word ‘knife’ has been used: 39 times
> 
> I think those are just important statistics lmao. anyway, two more chapters to go! (only a little sad). this one was definitely in my top 3 chapters to write, for obvious reasons. the Boys deserve it. 
> 
> yeehaw folks!


	21. (Absurd, Incredible) Archival Assistants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cried writing this for no reason other than the fact that i adore them. anyway it's fuckin midnight and i've decided that relistening to magnus episodes is a good idea (it's not)

“And  _ then-  _ I whipped the knife out and stabbed him! And as he fell to the floor I heard Sasha cry, ‘Oh Tim! Please come save me!’ So naturally I ran over and very heroically threw her attacker to the ground. And with one punch,  _ bam _ ! He went out like a spooky stage light! And then I swooped her into my arms and we had a  _ very  _ passionate kiss. And that’s the story of how I saved all of you.”

Tim leant back in his chair, took a swig of his coffee, and then put his hands behind his head in a show of confidence. Sasha snorted. “Oh dear  _ god  _ no. Is that what you’ve been telling yourself?” she asked. “Hell of a coping mechanism.”

He shrugged. “It’s what I’ll write some day in my epic autobiography. And you guys can’t prove it was anything different!”

Jon smiled, not only because of Tim’s antics, but also the fact that his knee lightly touched Martin’s. Neither retracted from the contact. “No publisher would take on your supernatural autobiography unless you got a- a  _ ghost  _ writer,” he said, as straight faced as possible.

Tim stared at him with half a bite of croissant hanging out of his mouth. He swallowed it and proceeded to gasp. “ _ Jonathan Sims,  _ was that a- a joke I just heard?”

“I do joke sometimes,” Jon grumbled. “When it’s appropriate.” He took a sip of coffee- he usually didn’t drink it, but caffeinated tea just wasn’t enough. Even after sleeping for a good eight hours, exhaustion still threatened to consume him.

When he and Martin had stumbled back to their hotel room earlier that morning, they didn’t even change out of their clothes. They both collapsed on the bed nearest to the door, a fact that stayed in Jon’s mind afterward but he didn’t have much time to think about in the moment.

Jon fell asleep, too afraid to reach over and touch Martin, as much as he wanted to. But an hour later, the strong sunlight from the window woke him. Thankfully, Martin hadn’t been disturbed, but Jon noticed with a start that an arm was thrown across his chest. After they’d fallen asleep, Martin must have pulled him closer. Jon had buried his head in the warm space between Martin’s chin and shoulder. 

Carefully, he squirmed his way out of the embrace and went to the window. He’d planned to only close the blackout curtains. Still, he found himself opening the sliding door, watching the curtains billow out beside him. He looked back at Martin for a moment and stepped out onto the balcony. 

Sunlight. When he’d kissed Martin earlier-  _ oh my god he kissed Martin _ \- the morning had been fresh, the sky pink and soft. But now, a cloudless sky let the bright light fall on the city. He breathed in and watched people hurriedly walk through the streets below, shouting or jogging or looking around them in awe. For the first time, he found this little sliver of humanity to be beautiful.

Jon shivered. He remembered a soft wool scarf around his neck, large hands gripping him like a lifeline, and the smile on his face grew. Back inside the room, Martin turned over and faced the balcony. The light streamed in and lit his face again, just as it had only the day before. 

Without a coat on, it was getting cold. Jon went back inside and closed the doors as quietly as possible. He pulled the curtains together and the room fell dark. 

He sat on the edge of the bed, remembering the day before. His hand fell lightly to Martin’s shoulder, but of course, he didn’t intend to wake him up this time. Jon threaded his fingers through Martin’s tangled curls and then laid back down. 

Martin made a soft noise in his sleep and Jon smiled again.  _ Lovely.  _ That was the only word in his mind. 

Jon moved closer to Martin, head against his broad chest. 

“...you good? Jon?”

Sasha waved a hand in front of his face and he snapped back to reality. “Hm? What?”

“Zoned out a little,” she said. “How… how are you guys feeling?”

Jon shrugged. “Not sure. Well, actually, not feeling much at all- at least, not about that. So, fine?”

“That’s called the aftershock of trauma!” Tim said, throwing finger guns his way and making a clicking noise in his mouth. Jon let out something that could generously be called a brief chuckle. “Well, obviously, I am coping with humor and I’m entirely aware of it, and no one could even try to get me to stop.”

Martin nodded. “ _ Right _ .” He held a chai tea in his hands. The group had met up at a small coffee shop, somewhere near their hotel but in an opposite direction from the convention center. They’d regrouped around four in the afternoon, all having slept until about three. “I’m okay as well? For now? I don’t know, I just-” he looked over at Jon- “I don’t have any regrets. I don’t really understand what happened, but we helped some people, and that’s worth it.”

Jon thought back to the email that had been sent that morning, about the cancellation of the last day of the conference. Despite the fact that the whole conference had been a cover up for a cult, he strangely found himself disappointed that things turned out this way. Genuinely, he had been looking forward to a workshop on the last day. Oh well.

Even if no email had been sent out, no one would go inside the conference hall anyway. The entrance had been blocked off with tape, and a few police cars still remained on the outside. 

Sasha drummed her fingers on the side of her mug. “I’m doing fine as well, actually. I’ll need a few days to recover, but that’s what the weekend is for, I guess.” She looked the most stable of them all, her long brown hair neatly combed. She may have even put on mascara. Yes, Jon had taken a shower, but other than that, he hadn’t felt motivated to put any more effort into his appearance that day. 

Martin didn’t either, but really, did he even  _ need  _ to? Jon thought he looked just as good with some bedhead.

“You are indeed fine,” Tim joked, raising an eyebrow. She punched his shoulder just as he raised the last bit of the croissant to his mouth. “ _ Stop! _ I coulda dropped my croissant!” He took a bite from it and sent a glare her way. 

Jon choked on a sip of his coffee. “Tim, did you just make a- a  _ Vine  _ reference?”

This time, Martin looked shocked. “You know what Vine is?”

“Yes, I know what  _ Vine  _ is, I’m a goddamn millennial,” Jon said. 

Tim nodded and lifted his drink in the air before sipping it, as if toasting. “Right you are, Jonny. I sometimes forget that you are, in fact,  _ not  _ a boomer.”

“He uses reading glasses, you know, with a little chain and everything,” Sasha contributed, much to Jon’s annoyance. “And the sweater vests! Dear  _ god,  _ the sweater vests- are you certain that you aren’t an old history teacher in disguise?” 

“I prefer to be professional at my workplace, thank you very much,” Jon said. Martin moved closer and smiled at him, a face so fond that he was instantly filled with warmth. 

Martin’s knee pressed against Jon’s a little harder, not even possibly accidental anymore. “That’s adorable,” he laughed. 

“I am  _ not _ -” Jon began to protest at this, but stopped when he saw Tim cover his mouth to keep from spitting out his drink, and Sasha begin to sputter. 

“Wait, wait-  _ wait _ \- holy shit, it happened!” She turned to Tim, almost bouncing in her chair. “Tim! It actually happened oh my god oh my god look at them!” Sasha was nearly shouting.

Tim sighed and took out his wallet, handing her ten pounds. “Fuck you, Sasha.” He looked back at Jon and Martin, who sat stunned on the small sofa in the cafe. “You guys couldn’t have waited another week? Really?” he huffed.

“Forgive me for not understanding,” Jon said, greatly perplexed. 

Sasha rolled her eyes. “You two have been so dreadfully oblivious for months now, so obviously, Tim and I made bets at the start of the week about how long it would take you to get your shit together. You know, like people do. I mean like, you guys have been so insufferable, you’ve made Tim and I watch you dance around each other for ages now, it was like some sort of weird homosexual natural disaster that I just couldn’t look away from.”

Martin slowly nodded. “I… okay. Sure. Might as well happen!”

Mouthing something or perhaps whispering very quietly, Tim looked over at Sasha. Jon thought it may have been “Do you think they kissed? I really want to see that” but he couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was, Sasha nodded in response. 

“You two are rather frustrating yourselves,” Jon said. “Are you together or not?”

Tim leant back and shrugged. “You guys know what  _ I  _ think the answer to that should be,” he said. “I’ll hand that one off to Sasha.”

She pursed her lips together, thoughts flickering behind her eyes. “I- no, we are not together.” Tim pouted, about to say something, but she stopped him. “ _ However,  _ I will agree to a date. If we’re going to do this thing, we’re going to do it right.”

Tim pumped a fist in the air. Multiple other patrons of the coffee shop looked over at him, but he very much did not care. “ _ Hell  _ yes! Did y’all hear that? A date!”

Martin laughed, leaning a little closer to Jon, their shoulders brushing together. Everything still felt so  _ new,  _ entirely unexplored territory. But Jon knew he wanted to explore it all with Martin. They had so much lost time to make up for, so many possibilities and opportunities ahead.

He wanted to do all of it with Martin, whom he leaned closer to without an ounce of shame. A protective and warm arm wrapped around his shoulders. 

Jon had his assistants, but they weren’t just that. They were his  _ friends,  _ crazy and ridiculous and stubborn, and wonderful. Jon had  _ Martin,  _ who meant more than he could even begin to describe. In the last twenty four hours, he easily could have lost them. That only made him realize just how much he needed them. 

  
And so there, in that New York coffee shop, Jon swore to himself that he wouldn’t let anything happen to them. Tim, Sasha,  _ Martin.  _ His absurd, incredible archival assistants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!! do not worry, there is still one more chapter left in this fic before we have to say goodbye. your comments mean the world to me and i've loved loved loved writing this (but again, it is not over yet!! it isn't!! one more chapter and then you can pry this fic from my cold dead hands)
> 
> also, because i've loved posting this so much, i'm going to be starting another chapter fic after a small break (which will absolutely be filled with oneshots). i very much am thinking of doing a teacher/high school AU, with a big Jonmartin focus but a lot of other A+ ships from tma as well. would any of you guys like to read that?? let me know!
> 
> as always, yeehaw!


	22. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter has references to things that happen at the end of S1 and a little bit for the end of S2. below the dashed line for the second lil part there are references to the end of S4. technically no explicit spoilers, but you've been warned just in case

  
  


“It’s 5:30, so I’ll see you tomorrow, Jon.”

He looked up from the statement he was currently marking and nodded at Sasha in the doorway. “Have a good night, then,” he said, giving her a tired smile. 

Sasha had her fingers resting lightly on the door frame, with a straight back and dignified posture. She returned his smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes, always cold and calm. “You and Martin are still coming to our flat for game night on Friday?”

After the New York trip, just a little over ten months ago now, the group had decided they wanted to spend more time with each other outside of the workplace. Despite their  _ experiences _ together, the other three were still rather surprised when Jon seemed willing to go along with the idea. He found that he really enjoyed their Friday nights together now, and yes, sometimes got a little too passionate about the board games. 

“Of course,” Jon nodded. 

She tilted her head, bright orange hair falling out of her face. “Oh good. Bye, then.” And she was gone.

Jon thought about Sasha for a moment before going back to the statement. She acted so distant from the rest of them- then again, that’s just Sasha. And Tim still loved her, despite their…  _ opposing  _ personalities. Like how Tim loved wearing yellow, and Sasha despised the color. They were an interesting couple. 

_ Couple.  _ Jon twisted the engagement ring around his finger, smiling. About a month ago, he’d proposed to Martin. Usually, he was one to take things slow, but after Prentiss, he’d decided that wasting time wouldn’t do anything good. He knew he loved Martin, more than anything else in the world. 

His finger moved from the ring to a circular scar on his forearm, pink and raised above the skin. Even though it hadn’t been long since he’d gotten the pockmarked scars, he knew they wouldn’t ever fade. He sighed and rubbed his temple in an effort to get rid of this terrible headache. 

Something bad- something  _ sinister  _ was operating within the institute. And Jon didn’t know what, but he did know that his life was in danger, and so were the others’. 

Until they figured it all out and were rid of the threat, whatever it actually was, he and Martin had decided to put off the wedding until then. Jon kept it as a light at the end of whatever weird tunnel his life had become.

Jon wanted to go home to their flat, where he felt safe- especially because of the multiple fire extinguishers placed at the door. He wanted to eat one of Martin’s amazing peanut butter cookies and drink tea and watch a documentary while cuddled on the sofa.

Oh, and see Brigadier, of course! Georgie had been thrilled when Jon and Martin followed her cat naming pattern and adopted one they named Brigadier. A gray kitten with yellow eyes and the cutest fucking tail  _ ever.  _ Even the thought of her made Jon smile. 

Jon jumped as he felt arms wrapped around him from the back, but then he recognized them and relaxed. He felt lips brush the top of his hair. 

“We should get home soon.” Martin’s voice, soft from above him. Jon looked up and smiled.

“I know, but… you know I have to figure out what’s happening, Martin. You go home, I- I won’t stay here much longer.”

Martin let him go and walked around to the side of Jon’s chair. “Darling, you’ve been working later every day- you won’t be of much use at all if you’re barely staying awake,” he said. Jon leaned into him, taking comfort in the familiar scent of his jumper. 

“I want us to be  _ safe _ , that’s all.”

Martin crouched down on his knee and kissed Jon, who hummed happily. “I know that, but _ also  _ you want pasta and a documentary and Brigadier.”

He truly knew Jon too well. 

“Fine,” Jon huffed, but in reality, he was all too happy for a reason to go home. “You’ve twisted my arm.”

Martin took his hand and helped him out of his chair. Jon lost his balance, but quickly regained it. “Christ, Jon, you  _ are  _ tired- you’ve got to start taking care of yourself better,” he said.

Usually, Jon would’ve protested at this, but he didn’t have the energy. He just let his head fall onto Martin’s shoulder and closed his eyes. 

“ _ Jon _ \- you’re adorable but we need to go.”

“I am  _ not  _ adorable,” Jon said, but it was muffled against Martin’s shoulder, who laughed and hugged him closer. 

“Come on, every second we waste here is just longer until you don’t get any of my fantastic pesto.”

Everything was scary and uncertain, but Jon had Martin. Whatever happened- they would get through it together. And someday, Jon knew, they would be married and away from the goddamn Magnus Institute and hopefully own two more cats. Martin would bake and knit more clothes for them, Jon would write novels and stare peacefully into the Scottish highlands. 

They’ll be okay. He would make sure of it. Jon had Martin, and that’s all he’d ever need. 

\- - - - - - - - - -

In a dim office of The Magnus Institute, Elias listened to the sharp ticking of a clock. He closed his physical eyes and watched Jon and Martin leave the doors, happily walking to their home. Elias would let them have that- Jon’s spirit couldn’t break, not now. He needed something to  _ live  _ for if any of this was going to work out. 

Elias opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a leather bound notebook. Instinctively, he turned it to the sixth page, where a list of fourteen bullet points dotted the paper. 

Five of them were crossed out. He hummed, thinking about what to do, how to orchestrate this wonderful scheme. 

Only nine left to go- not much, really. Oh, it would take a few favors, and some direct involvement, but it was doable. Elias smiled at the list. In all honesty, he was proud of himself. He’d gotten closer than ever before. 

Nine remained, written out in sprawling black ink.

  
Nine more to go for his archivist-  _ The  _ Archivist. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Shit. That's a wrap, folks.
> 
> The couple months of writing this has been quite the journey for me, and it definitely wouldn't have happened without everyone who leaves kudos and comments on this story. Your amazing support has been pretty much all of my motivation and is the only reason why I managed to finish this (enthusiastically, at that). You've all been The Best Ever, and I hope to hear from you again!
> 
> That being said, as I mentioned in the last chapter, I'll be starting a new fic in a little while, probably a couple of weeks. If you would like to, you can check that out as well! It'll probably be much longer than this fic, and will have a very wide cast of Magnus characters in it (and by that I mean pretty much every recurring character in the series. 
> 
> Lastly, huge shoutout to my friend @lemoncardboard, my bad idea filter for this story. They don't even listen to tma but they've managed to make this fic far less stupid than it would be. 
> 
> Alright, that is all. Stay funky fresh my dudes.
> 
> Yeehaw


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